


A Daisy By Any Other Name

by daisyqiaolianmay (skinman)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Adoption, Explicit Language, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid Skye - Freeform, Mary Sue Poots, Mom May, Past Child Abuse, Skye - Freeform, St Agnes, Warnings May Change, cory sutter, dad phil, daisy coulson, foster, in which may and coulson are skye's parents, theres references to 4 different names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinman/pseuds/daisyqiaolianmay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Previously named: Think Twice)<br/>Skye had always been told 8 was too old. She remembered the tales the older kids spun; if her 8th birthday came around and she was still in the system she'd never get out. She'd be shipped off to St. Lucia's and no one would even notice. All the moms and dads wanted the littlest kids. <br/>Then it came, her 8th birthday, and Skye had almost accepted her fate.<br/>Now she can see an out, an escape, maybe... possibly... even a family, but becoming Daisy Coulson isn't going to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let There Be Light: Genesis 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Disaster, has its roots in happiness,  
> and happiness, lurks in disaster.  
> Who knows when this cycle will end?” 
> 
> – Tao Te Ching Verse 58

Dani had always believed in Skye, encouraged her, and told her she would find a family one day. The little girl slumped against the wall. She had failed Dani. She was a bad kid.

 _‘God help the girl,’_ the words spun in her mind. _‘I’ll get hold of St Lucia’s and see if they have any beds.’_ Dani didn’t know Skye was crouching right outside the door of Sister Olive’s office. Through the crack she could see the Sister remove her reading glasses and rub her brow in a distressed fashion.

Skye had known what her 8th birthday would mean. She was getting too old now. They were moving her to the big kid’s orphanage. Nobody would want her now. The small, cute kids never stayed more than a couple of months, they were the ones the mommies and daddies wanted. She didn’t feel old though, most of the time. Especially when nuns treated her like a baby, like she didn’t understand things, but Skye understood a lot of things.

She understood that her parent’s had left her here. Her real parents, that is. They hadn’t wanted her, she knew that much. She’d had a lot of foster parents since then. 4 very different families that had promised to be hers. The Sutters, the Arbenchevs, the Hardys, and the Evans. No matter how good she tried to be she always ended up back at St Agnes. _‘Not a good fit.’ ‘Bad kid._ ’ Skye didn’t like to think about them, especially the Evans. Skye’s chest suddenly felt very tight and hot, tears pricking her eyes, blurring her vision. She didn’t like to think about it, any of it. _‘Deep breathing, Cory. Breathe through it.’_ Dr Patel still called her Cory sometimes, she was fed up with correcting him, he apologised every time but she knew he didn’t mean it. ‘Cory Sutter’, that’s how people knew her, and Skye hated it.

She wiped away her tears. She didn’t need any of the other kids teasing her about her red-rimmed eyes, so she plodded up to her room to get away from them all. The screaming and crying was distracting anyway. She wasn’t meant to be in there at this time; on weekend afternoons everyone had to go play on the ground floor where the nuns could keep an eye on them. She’d get told off if they found her but Skye didn’t care, not anymore.

The room was expansive, long, blank walls, with 2 windows at the end. The only furniture was the beds, lined up on either side of the room, with a chest for the girl’s things at the foot of each. The rooms were all shared by 8 girls, on a floor with 5 rooms. 38 girls all under 8 years old, and then there was just Skye and Rosie. Skye was the second eldest in her room. Rosie was older but Skye never really counted her, because Rosie had a mom, she just couldn’t live with her right now. Rosie was always going on about how much her mommy loved her. Skye didn’t like her, she always boasted and took things without asking. It didn’t matter anymore though; they would both be leaving soon.

The little girl shuffled over to her bed and stuck her hand under the frame, tugging her Gameboy free from where it was tucked under one of the beams. Clambering onto her creaking mattress, she pulled up her knees and pressed the on button. None of the other kids had their own Gameboy, because Skye had found it broken under a bookcase in the playroom, and fixed it. She didn’t play with it except in private, one of the other girls might steal it.

Skye curled up and concentrated on the little man in red skidding across her screen and let the tears begin to fall, blurring her sight. How come a mean girl like Rosie got a mommy and Skye didn’t? Maybe Skye really was a too much of a bad kid to deserve one…

 

* * *

 

_(2 weeks later)_

 

May was sat at the edge of their bed, staring off into space, calculating possibilities, her face pinched with nervousness.

Phil emerged from the bathroom, top button undone, and tie in hand. He sensed her discomforted and smiled sadly, “Nothing’s set in stone you know, Mel. We’ll just have to see how today goes.”

Melinda turned to face him, her eyes meeting his, teeth gritted, “I do want this. I just…”

“Don’t like the lack of control?” Phil slung his tie round his neck and sat down beside her, the bed dipping under their combined weight.

May tilted her head at him questioningly, then decided he was right, mostly. Her hands went instinctively to his collar, buttoning it up, and taking either end of his tie, she began to loop the material into place. “I want this, but I’m just thinking, what if she doesn’t?”

Coulson furrowed his brow as he gently took Melinda’s hand where she was finishing fixing his collar. It wasn’t often she voiced her concerns so blatantly like this. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re a wonderful mother. Clint said so, and I know Katie thinks it too.”

Melinda smiled at the thought of Clint telling Phil that, but her face quickly fell, “This is different, Phil. Kate and Clint were teenagers when they came to us. They’re both all grown up now. This little girl, she’s going to need more from me than Clint or Katie ever has.”

Phil sighed, a thin smile appearing on his lips at the thought of his adopted kid’s, “You’re using the phrase ‘all grown up’ very liberally there.”

The dysfunctional and damaged Clint Barton had first entered Phil and Melinda’s life when he was 15 years old. It was unusual for a kid his age to be put into singular foster care but the Coulson’s had insisted they were up to the challenge. Clint’s social worker still wasn’t sure how Phil had managed to get through to the kid, but within a year Clint Barton was psychologically stable, at an average in most of his classes, and on track to finish school. Melinda had found Clint hard to deal with at first; he was unresponsive most of the time and stayed in his room a lot, which might seem funny to anyone who was accustomed to him and his carefree demeanor now. Somehow Phil had broken through Clint's armor and befriended him. Honestly, Melinda still wasn't sure how he had done it.

A couple of years later and Clint, having chosen that college was not for him, was now working in DC, and had a girlfriend at ballet school in the city, Natasha Romanoff, someone Phil and Melinda had taken in for a time and considered to be as much a daughter of their's as Kate. For the first time in his life Clint was truly stable and happy.

Kate Bishop was a choice Phil and Melinda had made two years after Clint had joined their family. A local foster agency had contacted them early one morning asking if there was a chance they could take a teenage girl who’d been transferred from Boston. It was originally planned so that Kate would only spend around a month in their care, but something about her had struck a chord with the small family. It had been obvious when the phone call came in that Clint was apprehensive, but within 3 weeks the pair were squabbling and laughing like they’d been siblings since birth. A couple of weeks later the Coulson’s signed the papers.

For a while after Katie left Phil felt guilty wanting another kid around; Clint was settled and happy, Katie was excelling in her endeavors, shouldn’t that be enough? But it wasn’t. He could see it in Melinda too. The house was to quiet. They wanted another. There were so many kids that needed homes, they were busy people, but they had plenty of room in their life for a child.

Melinda had known almost immediately this little girl was right for them. When Dani Vegas, the head social worker for St Agnes’ orphanage, had handed it to them she hadn’t seemed at all hesitant. Upon hearing what their attitude was toward the fostering Dani had immediately produced the girl’s file without a moment’s thought.

_Dani begun, “I should warn you, Mr and Mrs Coulson, the waiting list for younger children is long, specifically with the 1 to 5 year olds, it could up to-”_

_Phil shook his head and held up his hand to interrupted, “Actually, I suppose you don’t get this often, but...” Phil exchanged a look with his wife, her eyes were filled anxiety but there was encouragement there too, “we’d like to look into fostering an older child.”_

_Melinda took a breath, “We took our son in when he was already 15, during his time with us he discussed what he called the 8th year cut off he’d become aware of when he was in the system.”_

_Phil took over, “He said there was a point all the kids were aware of. That when you turned 8 you were much less likely to be adopted.”_

_Dani sighed, straightening the papers on her desk, “Unfortunately, this is true. When tend to transfer kids to the larger orphanage at 8 years...” There was a pause and Phil and Melinda waited. “Adoptive parents think what they want is a baby. They don’t want to miss all the firsts that come with biological conception, but in reality… older children adoptions have their own set of firsts, which as adoptive parents of older children I’m sure you’re well aware of. The first time they call you mom, or dad. The first time they tell you they love you, or let you hold them. The rewards of taking in an older child are great, but it also has to be accepted that the child is not going to come as a blank slate. Many have problems that will require extra care. This is something many prospective parents find off-putting. We find 7 is the age children really come into their own, so an 8 year old is considered too old.”_

_“This is why…” Melinda squeezed Phil’s arm, “we think an 8 year old would be perfect.”_

_Dani’s smile grew, “Hold on one second.” The young woman opened the top door of her desk and pulled out one singular file._

_“We actually only have one 8 year old at St Agnes currently, I was prepping her file for transfer when you phoned. She turned 8 only a week ago, I was about to have her sent to our sister orphanage, St Lucia’s, to be with the older girls.”_

_Phil was the one to reach across and take the file, reading the name scrawled at the top as he brought it into Melinda’s line of sight, “Cory Sutter?”_

_“An abandonment case,” Dani continued, smiling despite the subject matter, “Left at the orphanage as a newborn in a duffle bag. There was a note but it was written in mandarin and the translation revealed not evidence as to where she came from or why she was abandoned. She was adopted for a time but it fell through. She's a smart kid... precocious. She has some attachment issues, but, honestly, all she really needs to fix that is a stable home.”_

_Melinda watched as Phil opened the file to reveal a picture of the girl, and her heart felt as though it might drop into her stomach. The eight year old girl had the biggest, brownest, saddest eyes she had ever seen. Her dark hair was loose, glinting with flecks of gold as it hung in front of her young face. ‘She could be ours.’ Melinda thought to herself, before lifting her gaze to meet her husband’s. She could see in his eyes that they were sharing the same thought. He could see it too. He could see Melinda in her eyes and the shape of her lips. She could see Phil in the shape of the girl’s jaw, the curve of her nose. This was meant to be._

_Phil nodded to her so deftly Melinda almost missed it, and turned to Dani, “When can we meet Cory?”_

_“Skye.” Dani corrected him._

_“Sorry?” Phil asked._

_Dani shook her head, a smile playing on her lips, “She doesn’t like to be called Cory. She likes Skye. Just Skye.”_

* * *

 

It was a Family Finder day. The day the nuns rolled out all the kids and invited a bunch of fresh-faced and hopeful parents to sit with them for the afternoon. It happened every 8 Saturdays. Skye didn’t bother to go down when the other girls did, instead she sat for ages on her bed staring at a page in her book but not really trying to read it. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what the big kid’s orphanage would be like. They wouldn’t be missing her downstairs anyway. There was no way any parents would want her over all the cute toddlers.

The knock on the door surprised her a little. She’d expected no one to come looking for her for at least an hour; the nuns were just waiting for her to be carted off any day now, they didn’t really care what she did anymore. Plus, when the nuns came up they never ever knocked.

Dani’s face appeared, poking round the door frame, blue eyes shining and considering the little girl, “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing.” Skye nodded, with her legs crossed over her bed-covers, book in her lap.

“You should be down there with the others.” Dani said softly as she came to sit across from Skye on the sheets.

“Why? There’s no point.” Skye scrunched up her face in a way Dani recognised. She’d seen it on the face of many a little one who was trying to be brave, trying not to cry.

Dani shook her head, “You don’t know that.”

Skye pouted and stared at where her hands where fiddling with the book in her lap.

“Please. For me.” Dani encourage the little girl, holding out her hand. She didn’t want to tell Skye there was a couple waiting down there specifically to see her, it would only make Skye nervous, and hurt her if nothing came of it

“30 minutes?” Skye suggested.

“Thank you.” Dani said, waiting for Skye to take her hand, but she didn’t. Skye hopped down onto the floor and trotted off down the stairs, taking her book with her.

 

* * *

 

Nobody was really taking any notice of the little girl curled up in the corner of the room squinting with extreme focus at the book in her hands. Nobody, except that is, Melinda May Coulson. She didn’t even look up when her husband sat down next to her and handed her a cup of tea. There was something about this girl that both excited and terrified her... not unlike when she'd seen Phil for the first time. 

“You okay?” Phil asked, following her line of sight to what lay at the end. Skye. Her long hair obscured her face a little but Phil knew it was her.

Melinda was not okay. This was big. 

“Hey Skye!” Dani’s voice called out across the space and the girl’s head shot up. “Come here there’s some people I want you to meet.”

No. Melinda wasn’t ready for this. Maybe they should go home? Come back another day. When she was more prepared.

She felt Phil’s warm grip on her shoulder and leant into it, steadying herself against him. Her rock, as always.

The girl with dark hair and brown eyes that were even bigger and sadder in person strode toward them. She was filled with a familiar kind of faux confidence that Melinda recognised immediately. 

“Hi, I’m Skye.” Skye spoke up first, feet shifting uncertainly the whole time.

Phil, who hadn’t frozen up like Melinda, leaned toward the girl, holding out his hand. “Hey, Skye. I’m Phil Coulson. This is my wife, Melinda.” May nodded, a small smile working its way onto her lips as Skye looked at her.

“Those are good names. I don’t have a last name right now.” Skye said, taking Phil’s hand and shaking it. “But I’m working on it.”

As he held her hand he thought about the last time he’d held a hand that small. He couldn’t remember. It was strange to think this child was being labelled ‘too old’ when to Phil she looked barely more than a baby.

There was a pause and then Skye started to fiddle with her fingers, “Should I go now?” Her voice was timid all of a sudden.

Melinda spoke before anyone else could, “We’d love for you to sit with us a little longer, if you’d like?” Skye’s anxiety was replaced with wonder as soon as May made it clear she wanted to talk to her. It hurt Melinda to think this was probably one of only a few times this little girl hadn’t been pushed aside.

“Why don’t you sit between us and tell us about your book?” Phil suggested, moving across a seat to make space for Skye.

Skye’s eyes were wide, she seemed apprehensive, but the sadness in them was gone. There was a little glimmer of hope now. It was small, but still very much there.

Dani made a quick exit, smiling softly.

Skye’s legs hung off the edge of the seat, a few inches from the floor, her book gripped tight.

“It quite hard.” She begun, opening the book on her lap. “I don’t understand most of the words, or a lot of the symbols, but I’m good with patterns, these ones are just very strange, so I don’t really read it, but I’m trying. One day I’m going to read the whole thing.”

Melinda squinted, she recognised it. Reading the spine, “Fairy Tales and Fantasies.” She laughed, and muttered, “Zhè běn shū shì wǒ-de.” _'This is my book.'_

Skye looked up at her, mouth open, and whispered, “You can read it? What does it mean?”

Fairy tales in mandarin? This little girl was trying to teach herself mandarin? If nothing else Skye was certainly ambitious. But it made sense, Melinda supposed, it was one of the only links she had to her past. This was something she could do for her, Melinda had a chance to give this little girl a gift. Some things were meant to be, and this was just one of them.

“This is my book. I have it,” Melinda tapped the open novel lying in Skye’s lap, “My mother used to read it to me when I was small.”

Skye’s eyes were bright. “Your mom.” It wasn’t a question, just a confirmation.

“Yes.” Melinda smiled, and tried not to look sad. She knew with her age and upbringing to Skye mothers must seem like mystical magical people. Clint had been told old to admit he needed a mother when she’d met him, it had taken him years before it finally slipped out. Even then it hadn’t even been to her.

_‘Hey, who’s this?’_

_‘My mom.’_

He’d said it so easily, without the slightest hesitation, and suddenly she was someone’s ‘mom’. He never called her Mel again.

Kate had been different again, it had only taken about six months. Mother’s day. Once Kate had written _‘To my awesome Mom’_ on paper it hadn’t taken long for her to slip into calling Melinda that all the time, whenever she could, just to say it, safe in the knowledge she had a mother now. Katie pretended to be hard as nails sometimes but really she wore her heart on her sleeve, just like Phil. Melinda recognised this in Skye too.

Skye was different. This girl was at the age where she didn’t just need a mom, she really wanted one. And Melinda wanted it to be her. Her mind was racing now. Clint and Katie would love a little sister to spoil. Tony and Pepper’s kids were the perfect age, so was Sam and Sharon Wilson’s boy. Phil and Melinda could give her so many opportunities. Give her a family.  

Skye bit her bottom lip and looked down at the book again.

“Would you like me to read it to you? I can tell you what it means.” May said softly.

Skye cautiously took the book and held it out to her. “Be careful, please.”

“I’ll be very careful, I promise.” Melinda locked her gaze, reassuring her that she was being sincere.

She didn’t have to look up to know Phil was loving this; silently watching Melinda fall in love with this girl.

The end came far too soon and the children were saying their goodbyes. They’d only managed to get through half the story and Skye’s disappointment was obvious, but she said her sad goodbye and struggled to look either Melinda or Phil in the eyes.

“Hey Skye,” Phil called after her as she trailed after the other kids. The girl spun around sharply at the sound of his voice. “See you soon.”

Skye grinned, ducking her head as she left the room. Melinda grabbed Phil’s hand and squeezed.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” She answered, there was no doubt, no hesitation. If she had the adoption papers she would have signed them right then and there.

* * *

 

_please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went and taught myself some pinyin for this which was awesome actually. Mandarin is a cool but complicated language, the word patterns are totally different, but I really thought it could be something great from May and Skye to share so here you go.


	2. After His Own Heart: Samuel 13:14

Today felt different. Skye couldn’t place it. She got up, washed her face, got dressed, made her bed, and when the bell rang she trundled down the stairs behind the other girls for breakfast. Something had shifted, but everything was the same; the rising and dipping hum of low chatter all around her, the occasional yell of an younger child, the smell of damp mixed with boiled milk.

“Skye.” Dani’s voice travelled across the dining hall, the tone of it was different too. Still just as kind and assured, but not the same. Skye was used to hearing sympathy under everything everyone said to her. Her teachers, the nuns, kids at school, to them she was ‘the orphan’. Today, there was none of it in Dani’s voice, not one ounce of guilt on her face, and Skye didn’t know what to think about that.

All the other kids stopped chattering and looked up too. People never got pulled out of breakfast. Never. You weren’t allowed to leave until the bell went at 8:30. Then it was a 15 minute rush to have the older kids all ready and lined up to mount the bus to the local public school.

“Sweetie, I need you to come with me.” Dani seemed a bit sad? Skye must have done something wrong again. When Dani held out her hand she took it, not glancing back as she was led from the table.

Dani’s office was a room just off the entry hall that used to be used as a cloakroom. Warm and cosy. Skye had been in it many times usually with a nun present, but today it was just her and Dani.

“I’m sorry.” Skye said as soon as the door was shut, her bottom lip trembling a little.

Dani had let go of her hand. There was a blue office chair behind Dani’s desk but she opted to sit beside Skye, on one of the old wooden chairs she used for visiting and prospective parents.

Dani was at a loss, confused, “Why are you sorry, Skye?”

Skye sucked in a deep breath, her gaze focused on her feet where they were swinging inches above the scuffed wood of the floor. “I don’t know, but I’ve done something wrong, right? That’s why I’m here. Is it because I yelled at Rosie last week because I promise I didn’t mean to cause trouble I ju-”

“Skye.” Dani put her hand out to rest it on the little girl’s arm. “You probably shouldn’t have yelled, that’s true, but I’m not here to tell you off.”

A dent appeared between Skye brows, her nose scrunched up. Perplexed she asked, “Then why are you upset with me?”

“Oh, Sweetie I’m not upset with you I’m just gonna miss you, that’s all.” Dani tucked both of Skye’s hands inside her own and gave them a little squeeze.

Skye’s face fell and her stomach started to churn. No. She didn’t want to go to the big kid’s orphanage. She wanted to stay here with the kids she knew, where everyone was smaller than her and not scary, she didn’t mind Rosie that much now she thought about it. She couldn’t leave Dani, she was the only one who really cared about her, who called her Skye, who accepted her. A new orphanage meant a new social worker and Skye knew they would never be as nice as Dani.

She remembered when she was 4, when she’d not been afraid to tell people she loved them. Dani had been new then, 22 years old and fresh out the training scheme. That was the first time Skye ever got Dani in trouble. By that point she’d been watching out for Skye for only a few months, but the little girl had fallen head over heels for her. That afternoon Skye had drawn a picture, it was of Dani, Skye and a dog, because Skye had always wanted a dog. Skye had been so proud of her work she couldn’t wait to show Dani, she was buzzing. She’d run across the playroom, almost tripping over a 2 year old to reach her social worker.

_“Look! Dani look!”_

_“Oh, it wonderful. I love the doggy what’s his name?”_

_“Danny!”_

_The girl had laughed at that, pulling Skye into a hug as she did, “Thank you.”_

_“I love you Dani.” Skye said, the sincerity throwing her off a little._

_Skye pulled away and was met by a proud smile, “I love you too, Sweetie.”_

Skye hadn’t realised that would get Dani in trouble. She’d watched as her friend and social worker was pulled from the playroom with a severe whisper from Sister Katherine. Skye had sneakily followed them and sat outside Sister Olive’s office.

_‘I’m sorry Sister but if you expect me to look down into the face of a parentless little 4 year old after they’ve told me they love me and not say it back you’re out of your mind.”_

Skye didn’t see Dani for a week. It was awful, she never meant to get Dani in trouble. She wanted to make everyone happy, love was supposed to make people happy, but Skye’s love had just made everything much worse. Skye never told Dani she loved her again. Skye never told anyone she loved them again, not out loud anyway.

“Skye, this is going to be a lot to deal with but I want you to look me in the eyes okay?” Dani tapped the little girl under the chin, encouraging her to look up, and she did. “You know the Coulsons, that nice couple from the other day?”

Skye grinned, her worries forgotten with the memory of the sparkly-eyed man and the woman that sounded like home, “Yes, I liked them. I liked them a lot.” The girl faltered, she might never see then again now, they’d said they’d see her again, but maybe they wouldn’t want to come visit the big orphanage.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

Skye’s wandering eyes met Dani’s once again.

“They want to adopt you.”

There was pregnant pause. It wasn’t what Skye had expected, any of it. She hadn’t expected them to want her, and she certainly hadn’t expected that knowing they did would make her go numb. She’d never been wanted by a couple she wanted back so badly before. Skye hadn’t liked most of her foster parents that much, she’d wanted to, she wanted to so badly she’d gotten hurt sometimes. A lot of times actually.

It was only when she noticed her eyes beginning to overflow that the physicality of the moment hit her and a sudden wave of pure joy and fear washed over her, pushing the air from her lungs. It was the good kind of fear though, the kind that walked hand in hand with excitement. That feeling of being torn, terrified of happiness; that she could lose it so easily. Skye didn’t want to get her hopes up again, but she couldn’t help it, there was something different this time.

This was an adoption. Fostering was different, fostering was a trial run, a short-term solution, so from the start she knew it was temporary, either it would end in adoption or, most likely, nothing. Adoption meant they'd already decided they wanted her forever.

Skye threw her arms around Dani’s neck and held on for dear life, “Thank you.” She whispered, not managing to scratch the surface of what she felt, her wet eyes creating a damp spot on the shoulder of her social worker’s shirt. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Melinda woke to the smell of wet paint and tea. She groggily pulled herself up, not bothering to check Phil’s side of the bed, she knew he wouldn’t be there. Usually she was the first one up, but not today.

This had happened twice before. Most Dads liked to be the one to paint their new child’s bedroom, and Phil was no different. With Clint she had come home at 5 pm a couple of days before the teenage boy’s arrival to find Phil passed out on the couch with flecks of light grey paint dotted all over him, clothes and skin alike.

With Kate it had been different. Phil had help in the form of his teenage son. With Clint’s input the methodical painting of the walls had slowly descended into chaos and laughter with Clint taking a paintbrush and leaving a long line of lilac down his father’s back.

Melinda picked her steaming cup of tea off her nightstand and pattered her way down the landing to the room at the end. The windows were wide open and the early morning light streamed in, filling the space. Her husband was stood in the center, with a mug of coffee held to his chest, his shirt streaked with blue, critically analysing his work. May slipped up behind him, placing her cup on the step ladder to her left and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Phil let out a breath at her touch, he put his mug down too, knowing that May was rarely so cuddly so he better make the most of it while it lasted.

“Look’s good.” She murmured into his back as he rubbed a hand over her arms where they were wrapped around him.

“Appropriate, don’t you think? Think she’ll like it?”

Melinda turned her face so her left cheek was pressed flat against his shoulder blades, her gaze flickering up and down the bare sky blue of the walls.

“Could do with some furniture.”

Phil smiled, that meant she liked it. “Noted. We should call into work and claim family leave today, go get a bed, maybe a desk or bookcase? I think Skye’d like that. I'll see if I can get Sharon to fill in for us."

“Well,” Melinda drew away from him, scooping her hot cup back up, “We do own the place, Phil.” She was smiling as she left the room.

They spent 3 hours in the furniture retailers, it would have been a lot longer if May hadn’t got fed up and fished Phil out, but they got everything they needed and a bunch of stuff they didn’t. After Phil got his eager hands on a Captain America themed bean bag Melinda decided it was time to call it a day and they carted it all home.

 

* * *

 

Skye was sat at the end of her bed, her wooden chest open in front of her. The few possessions she had in the world laid out on the floor. A few outfits, underwear, nightdress, wash bag, a worn old blanket, a bracelet she’d won at a fair, a pack of playing cards, and her Gameboy. A borrowed backpack sat to her right. It was ironic that for a kid that moved around so much more than most she was probably one of the only ones without their own bag.

She hadn’t been allowed to take her fairy tales, Sister Helen had forbade it, saying the book was the property of the orphanage. Skye had hid her tears until she was in private, and hours later her heart was still aching. She knew her new home would have a copy, but it wouldn’t be the same, she liked her one, with its dog-eared pages and the way it smelt safe and warm.

The shuffling by the door caused her to look up. Skye had expected it to be Dani checking up on her, but it was Rosie. Unlike usual the girl wavered in the door, like she was waiting for something. Skye didn’t need her coming in to annoy her, so she ignored her, huffing loudly and going back to figuring out what things to put in her bag first.

The other 8 year old moved over to her slowly, as though afraid she might bite, and settled down on the bed to the right of Skye’s.

The little girl moistened her lips, “You should pack your Gameboy wrapped inside your sweater so it’s safe.”

Skye refused to look up at her, or take her advice, simply frowning harder at her things. Why was Rosie giving her advice? Good, nice advice?

“I’m sorry!” Rosie blurted out, “I’m sorry I took some of your things and that I called you a name and talked about my Mom too much.”

Skye was lost for words, turning her gaze upward to meet Rosie’s. The girl looked away immediately.

“Why are you saying sorry to me?” Skye wasn’t angry at all, Rosie seemed too sincere for that, but she was very puzzled.

“Because I was… scared… and… and it made me mean and bad and you…” Rosie didn’t finish but the jist of it was clear as day.

“That’s… okay.” Skye stammered, still thrown off by this sudden end to a month long feud.

“Can we just... be friends?” Rosie suggested uncertainly. The girl look so fragile Skye was afraid to move, lest she knock the bedframe and shatter Rosie into athousand pieces.

Skye nodded slowly.

“I’m glad you’re being adopted. I’m… I’m…” Rosie started to cry, chin trembling, sobs becoming louder and louder.

Skye was still upset with Rosie, she’d still done and said all those mean things, but she couldn’t just sit there and watch her cry. She clambered up off the floor to gently and cautiously put her arm round the other girl.

Skye was desperate to stop Rosie crying, “It’s okay, Rosie, I forgive you. Okay?”

Rosie was leaning on Skye now, the tears flowing, dripping off her quivering chin. “I miss her, Skye, I miss her so much. I want my Mommy. She should have come home. I needed her to come home. I needed… I need her.”

Skye gripped the girl tighter. Oh no. She was so silly, how had she not noticed. Rosie’s sudden an tearful arrival, the American flag she kept in her chest, the purple war medal on her jacket. Skye was so blind.

“I’m sorry I was mean, Rosie. I didn’t know.” Skye held Rosie tighter, stroking her back like Dani did sometimes.

“Skye…”

“You’re using my name?” Skye realised. Never before had any of the other kids called her anything but Cory.

Rosie sniffled, wiping her running nose with her dirty sleeve, “Skye, I need you to do something for me.” Her bright green eyes were bloodshot, and her short, honey-coloured hair was mused up at the back.

Skye waited and watched as Rosie pulled a crumple photograph from her jacket and immethodically tried to straighten it out.

“You’re gonna get out of here and have access to computers and stuff. I need you to find him. Please.” Rosie begged, stuffing the photo in her new friend’s hand.

“Who is it?” Skye squinted at the blurry smiling young man in the picture. He was dressed in a leather jacket that was worn around edges, with his hair cut into a short back and sides, from what she could see. Maybe he should have appeared intimidating, but the smile on him was too wide and friendly. Leant up against a motorbike in a cobbled street, he looked to be in his element. Skye knew this wouldn’t be much help, she could barely see his face at all. Maybe she could track down the motorbike instead?

Rosie whistled out a breath, trying to calm herself, “My Dad. That’s what my Mom told me. There’s some stuff written on the back too, I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Skye chewed her lip. She wanted to help. “I don’t get it. Why hasn’t he come to get you? Why don’t you just take it to Sister Olive? Or your social worker?”

“Roger wouldn’t do anything about it. Or the Sisters. And… I’ve never actually met him…” Rosie faltered, “Um… my parents met on tour.”

Skye sent her a stumped look.

“You know… In the army, in Panama... I think. He’s not American... I don’t think.”

“Oh right.” Skye bit her lip. She was sure that might make things more difficult.

“So…?” Rosie gulped, holding out her hand.

Skye took it and held it tight, “Yeah, I’ll try. I'll help you Rosie.” She smiled in an attempt to reassure the other girl, though her own uncertainty was pushing against the inside of her chest. She wanted to help, she just didn’t know if she could.

“Oh, and Skye.” Rosie stood up, lifting up her shirt she pulled something rectangular from the back of her pants. It was Skye’s book of fairy tales.

Skye grabbed it, gasping at Rosie, who merely shrugged.

“They won’t notice its even gone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Today was the day. Skye had packed everything perfectly, with a little help from Rosie. The photograph was safely tucked away inside Skye’s book. She didn’t think she’d ever grinned so wide in her entire life as the silver car rounded the gate and pulled up in front of the Orphanage.

When Melinda and Phil Coulson climbed out Skye tried not to start crying again. She didn't want them thinking she was a baby. Until now this whole situation had been something she’d known, but not believed.

Phil knelt in front of Skye, his eyes sparkling just like she’d remembered, “You ready to go?”

Skye nodded enthusiastically, tugging on her backpack strap in response.

Melinda opened the back seat and helped Skye up. The little girl was somewhat relieved they’d thought to get her a booster seat. She was still small for her age, and she hated when the strap rubbed and cut into her neck.

Skye pressed her nose up against the window as Rosie appeared beside Dani at the top of the stone steps to wave goodbye. Skye had waved goodbye to St Agnes many times. She could help but think she would be seeing it's grey facade again soon. 

“That your friend?” Phil asked from the passenger seat, pointing to where Rosie was waving both hands at the car as it begun to pull away.

“Yes. That’s Rosie.”

“She can come visit sometimes if you want. Our house isn’t too far from here.” Phil suggested.

“I’d like that.” Skye decided.

Then sun had already started to sink under the horizon before they’d left the Orphanage so when they pulled into the Coulson’s driveway the light was very low. Skye’s eyelids were drooping; today had been long and emotional and she wanted to curl up in her new home and fall asleep. Yet, on the other hand she wanted to stay up late with her new parents and listen to Melinda tell her stories. She was afraid to fall asleep, afraid she would wake up and this would be a dream.

When Melinda helped her out the car Skye took her hand and didn’t let go. Phil brought her backpack in despite Skye tired and half-formed words about being able to carry it herself. The little girl barely made it to the top of the stairs before she was dropping off completely.

Melinda led her to her room as Phil went and dug her toothbrush and nightdress out her bag. Skye let them take care of her, she was too tired to do anything else.

There were flashes of blue, soft sheets, and a voice like home, _‘Goodnight Máomao.’_ And so Skye dreamt soundly, and thought of blue nights, fairy tales, and saving Rosie too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just setting the base for the story because I do not plan to have this over and done with in a few chapters, this is gonna be a long one. Much more cute philinda and mom and dad stuff to come!!


	3. Rise And Shine: Isaiah 60:1

 

 

Today, as usual, May was up first. Phil was still snoring softly into the pillow, with the early light from the window opposite their bed glancing off his face. She slipped out of their sheets and into sweats and black t-shirt, planning to take a shower later.

Phil was a house proud kind of person, he’d always been very into having everything just so. He took pride in every inch of their home, especially the children’s bedrooms. But at the back of the house there was one room that was entirely hers.

Kate called it ‘Mom’s room’, to Phil and Clint it was the ‘gym’, and Natasha had taken to calling it a ‘ _studiya_ ’, but her father would have referred to it as the _‘guǎn’._ The space was airy but safe. Four walls; two painted white, one furnished with floor-length windows complete with a great view, and one completely covered in a mirror with a railing running its length. The mirror and railing had been put in a few years ago when Natasha had lived with them for a little while, so she could use the space to practice. The light pine floorboards were interrupted by a square four meters of padded matting in the center of the space, this was what made it a _‘guǎn’_. Melinda thought that perhaps she had spent more time in a room resembling this one in her life than any other, even her bedroom.

_‘Leg up higher, Máomao. If you wish to triumph over your opponent you must hit them were they are weakest. Their strength of stance will reside in their legs, to topple them you should strike them in the center of their chest. Now, again, but higher!’_

William May had not only been a doting father but a passionate teacher, sometimes to the point where it had been overwhelming, but she had always taken great pride in the effort he put into her training. Tai chi and Shaolin martial arts had been central to her childhood, her parents had both had a passion for the art that was apparently hereditary. As she’d grown up it had remained important to her, something that she practiced every day without fail. By the time she was 14 she was competing nationally. By 16 she was international. Now she only taught, but it was not only a means of supporting her family, it was also a way of staying close to her parents when they had moved away from the east coast to settle in Canada.

Melinda pressed her finger to a button built into the wall and the sweet, sure sound of violins began to creep into the silence. She took a deep breath and made her way to the center of the padded mat, facing the windows so she could watch the sun rise as she practiced her tai chi.

She was at peace for a solid ten minutes before she heard the door creak a little way. There no way it was Phil, he never rose before 7:30, and so that left only one possibility.

“Melinda?” A questioned whisper that she could barely hear over the music even though it was only on low.

May broke stance and turned to meet the two big brown eyes waiting for hers by the door. The little girl looked unkempt, her hair knotted in places, they hadn’t had an opportunity to bathe her last night, and her nightdress was obviously meant for a much larger child and so it hung loose on Skye’s tiny frame, reaching her ankles. Melinda made a mental note to remember nightclothes when they went shopping.

“Good morning, Máomao.”

The child seemed uneasy, “Sorry. I wasn’t sure… when I had to get up… I was going to wash my face but I…” Skye frowned at her feet, whatever had happened was obviously upsetting her. She was still used to the structured environment of the orphanage. This had to be scary and new to her. There were no bells to be woken by, no five minute bathroom slots, and no set breakfast period. May had worried about the speed of the placement. The orphanage had needed Skye’s bed for a new addition. Skye’s social worker Dani had discussed it with Melinda and Phil at length. Together they had come to the decision that moving Skye in with them immediately would be less taxing on the little girl than being carted off to St Lucia’s for a few weeks of being pushed around and ostracised. It wasn’t ideal but it was by far the best option.

Neither Melinda nor Phil wanted to put the little girl through anymore trauma than she’d already experienced in her short life, so perhaps it was a selfish kind of need to protect Skye that had driven them to fast track the arrangement. Usually these things could take weeks, even months, but with Skye Dani had seemed to have worked overtime to produce the right documentation and cleared them with ease. Their good record with two successful adoptions and a number of beneficial shorter-term foster arrangements had helped their case considerably. They still had a long road ahead of them though.

Melinda knelt down in front of Skye, lightly tapping her under the chin in an affectionate way, “I know it’s all a very sudden change but I want you to try and remember this is your home now. How about you get ready and I’ll show you around?”

“I…” Skye began, “I can’t reach the basin.”

Melinda paused, realisation washing over her. They’d over-looked the shortness of their new family member. Both Clint and Kate had been teens, this was new territory.

Skye grimaced, “Sorry.”

Melinda was starting to worry about the amount this little girl apologised for things that weren’t her fault, or even really a problem at all. She wondered where it stemmed from? Most likely from being blamed for things that weren’t her fault. Dani had mentioned a history of ‘abuse’ but she’d hadn’t gone into great detail, only handing Melinda the file and telling her everything they need to know about Skye’s past was in there. Truthfully, the reason May hadn’t read it yet was partly because she had been preoccupied, but mostly because she was terrified, chilled at the mere thought of what horrors lay in Skye’s past. But she needed to face that fear if she was going to help this girl.

“Well, how about I run you a bath?”

Skye looked shocked, “A bath?” Her pretty doe eyes were shining with rampant possibility.

At the orphanage baths had been reserved for the little kids. Anyone over 6 had been expected to ether take a supervised shower or be scrubbed down by a nun. There had been a bath at the Evan’s but it had been off Mr and Mrs Evan’s bedroom and Skye wasn’t _‘EVER EVER’_ allowed in there so she’d taken showers. As a result Skye hadn’t been bathed in 2 years.

“You’d like that?” Melinda asked, earning a jerky nod. She held out her hand and after a moment of deliberation Skye took it, a little more spring in her step then there was before.

May took her to the main bathroom, turned the faucet, and dug a fluffy blue towel out the airing cupboard. Skye was still stood in the doorway, watching, like she wasn’t sure where she was allowed to stand. It was the cleanest bathroom she had ever seen and Skye didn’t want to get it dirty.

Melinda turned to Skye and knelt again, “Come here, Máomao.” The little girl trudged over slowly, then waited. She liked it when Melinda called her, ‘Máomao’, she didn’t know what it meant but it sounded warm and made Skye’s heart jump happily.

“All the blue towels are yours, and everyone can use the white hand towels. Okay?”

Skye nodded, putting her hands on top of the blue towel in May’s arms. She’d never had her own towel before, she’d always had to share rough, frayed ones with other girls at the orphanage or her foster siblings, and sometimes they didn’t have enough time to dry out and Skye had to try to dry herself with a wet towel.

“Do you want bubbles in your bath?” Melinda tucked Skye’s towel into the towel rack with the purple, grey, and red towels.

Skye didn’t know how to answer, so she just shrugged. Then she remembered, _‘Don’t shrug your shoulders at me you little brat! Tell me yes or no!’_ Shrugging was wrong, it was rude, she shouldn’t have done that, she didn’t want to upset Melinda, she’d been so nice to her.

Skye stuttered, “I’m sorry, no, thank you.” She did want bubbles, she didn’t know if she’d ever even taken a bubble bath before, but she didn’t want to be a nuisance. She was scared that when she looked up Melinda would look angry, so she didn’t look up and hid behind a curtain of long, dark hair.

Melinda’s hands appeared palms up in her eye line. Skye flinched involuntarily. She didn’t know what that meant so she looked up to see.

“I want you to know it’s no problem if you do. You can have bubbles if you want them, Skye.”

Melinda’s palms met Skye’s fingertips where her hands hung by her sides, and the little girl’s hands slipped into Melinda’s. She stroked her thumbs over the backs of Skye’s hands.

“Okay.” The girl whispered.

Melinda tipped a little bit of the soap into the tub and turned back to where Skye was hovering meekly.

“Can you take your nightdress off and get in the tub now, Máomao? I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” Melinda was well aware that eight years was around the time kids started needing privacy, and she didn’t want to invade Skye’s if she didn’t have to.

The little girl nodded and Melinda turned her back, facing the door. She heard the water slosh as Skye climbed in and sat down.

Melinda went to sit by the tub, where Skye was chewing her lip and staring at the bubbles in a way that made her wonder whether this kid had ever even seen bubbles before.

“I’m going to wash your hair now, Skye. Is that okay?” Skye looked at her and nodded, smiling a little, which Melinda thought was probably more for her benefit. It terrified her to think that perhaps Skye was only agreeing because she was scared, but there was very little May could do about that right now. Trust took time.

Skye let Melinda rub the soap into her scalp, she was very gentle, and it felt nice in a way, if a little scary too. The woman was very careful to keep the soap from going in Skye’s eyes as she played with the bubbles. The little girl seemed pretty at ease with Melinda in that moment, and that was just on its own enough to make her heart soar.

She worried that the quiet would make it uncomfortable for Skye and so, despite herself, she began to sing. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she was saying the words right, and honestly she was barely singing, it was more like humming with some muttering thrown in. Her mother had never really been one for singing lullabies, except maybe when she was very small, but her father had used to play guitar sometimes and even though his voice wasn’t great either he would sing.

 

_‘Mei ma de hai zi xiang ke cao,'_

 

It was a lullaby he always sang. He told her it was from an old movie he’d watched as a young man called ‘Wandering Orphan’ about a child searching for a mother, for a family. She had never known how relevant the song would become to be one day. Skye had no idea what the words meant, but one day she would, and Melinda hoped in the mean time she would find it comforting anyway.

 

_‘Li kai ma ma de huai bao,_

_xing fu na li zhao?’_

 

_His voice was both soft and rough, ‘You are very lucky to have a mama who loves you, Melinda. Remember how lucky you are.’_

The words and bubbles distracted Skye long enough for Melinda to run a brush through her hair. It was long, almost down to the small of her back.

 By the time Melinda was finished gently washing Skye down it had become apparent to her how neglected this little girl had been; the water was fairly grimy, the ends of Skye’s hair really needed a trim, and she was fairly sure the girl could do with a little feeding up too.

“Okay, Máomao. I’ll hold up your towel and you can climb out.”

Skye stood up as instructed and clambered over the side onto the bath mat where Melinda was waiting to wrap her up in the blue towel. Then she began to rub the towel up and down Skye’s legs, still pink from the warm water, being a gentle as she could. That’s when she saw them. There were a series of thin pale lines running horizontally across the backs of the little girl’s legs; long white scars, like those Melinda had seen on the palm of her Auntie, left when lashes from a cane broke the skin. There must have been at least 15. Melinda sucked in a deep breathe through clenched teeth, and kept her head down so Skye wouldn’t see her reaction.

“Okay, Máomao, carry on drying yourself.” Melinda said, before swiftly exiting and making her way down the hall to hers and Phil’s room, barely making it through the door before her vision blurred completely and she fell to the floor. Melinda May didn’t cry often, but this seemed like a pretty good reason. Skye was just a baby, how could anyone…? What… monster?

She didn’t hear Phil approach, she was just suddenly wrapped in his arms. “She has scars, Phil. On the backs of her legs, there’s… so many, how could someone… how…” She shuddered, trying not to let more tears fall.

Melinda felt Phil’s entire body tense against her, “We can protect her now. It’s okay.” There was a long pause, and they just stayed there a little while. “I’ll finish getting her ready, go take a minute, Melinda.”

“I’ll be out in 15.” She sniffled a little and tried to regain composure, embarrassed that she had completely broken down, she didn’t do that in front of anybody, even Phil.

“Okay.” Phil concluded as his wife quickly entered their en suite and locked the door.

Melinda crouched on the floor of their bathroom, face resting in her palms, tears burning against her fingers. Skye was paying every day for the despicable actions of someone who was supposed to take care of her. But that was Melinda’s job now, and she was going to love and care for that girl till the day she died.

 

* * *

 

Skye liked Phil, she had decided. He’d come to her room after she’d finished getting dressed, and he’d knocked, and waited until she said he could come it. No one had ever done that before.

He’d shown her around the whole house, which Skye noticed was quite big and clean, and then finally led her to the kitchen for breakfast. The first thing she noticed was that it was very clean, maybe even cleaner than the rest of the house. The tops of the counters were smooth grey stone, with white cupboard doors, and an island opposite. A small breakfast table was off to their right a little in a large niche.

“Okay, Kiddo, pancakes or waffles?” He picked an egg out the fridge and threw it up in the air, catching it behind his back. Skye grinned at that and Phil looked increasingly pleased with himself.

Skye didn’t know how to answer, she couldn’t remember what they were like. Even then, she wasn’t sure she would have answered, she didn’t want to be demanding.

“I don’t know.” She answered truthfully.

“Well then,” Phil shrugged, picking another egg out the fridge, “guess we’ll just have to make both then, won’t we?”

He placed the eggs down in a glass bowl and turned to the little girl that barely reached his ribs.

“Is it okay if I pick you up for a second, Skye?”

She pondered whether it would be okay. Phil was very nice but she didn’t know him that well yet, “Just for a second.” Skye clarified.

Phil nodded, scooping her up under her arms and placing her on the marble island. “There!” He said triumphantly, “Now you can see what I’m doing and next time you can be my little helper.”

Yeah. Skye liked Phil. Phil was kind, asked before he did things, and made her smile. Melinda was different, not bad different, just different. She didn’t make Skye laugh but she made her feel warm inside, and when she’d sung Skye thought it sounded wonderful, like what it must be like to have a mom, someone to sing lullabies to you while they brushed your hair. But it couldn’t happen, the Coulsons deserved better than her and soon they would see that and send her back to St Agnes. She couldn’t let herself hope. Hoping for something and losing it hurt worse than never hoping for anything.

 

* * *

 

It was 8:30 when Melinda made her way back downstairs. She could smell breakfast wafting from the kitchen, and hear chatter, as soon as she stepped off the bottom step.

“That’s Red Skull.” Phil voice hit her first.

“He’s the baddie?”

“Yeah, we don’t like him.”

Melinda rolled her eyes as she entered the kitchen, looking at the scene laid out before her. The television in the corner of the kitchen was switched on and an old Captain America cartoon was running. Skye’s eyes were riveted on the screen, drinking it in, and Phil was loving every second of it. Finally a kid who seemed as fascinated as he was. Kate had been a complete waste of effort, and Clint and Natasha seemed to more tolerate than enjoy the experience.

“The indoctrination begins.” Melinda announced, smiling at her husband as he loaded a couple of steaming pancakes onto a plate.

“And it’s working.” Phil whispered as she slipped by him to move a couple of dirty plates into the sink.

“Who’s the guy with the Hammer?” Skye piped up.

Phil moved over to the island so he could get a better look at the screen, “Thor,”

Skye smiled, “I like Thor. He’s my favourite.”

Melinda stifled a smile, Phil’s attempts to turn Skye into a Captain America fanatic may yet fail after all.

Phil sighed, leaning further against the side of the island, “So, Skye, any preferences for today? We were thinking about going into town later and getting you some new stuff, if you’re up for it?”

Skye drew her gaze away from the screen full of gods and super-soldiers, “Okay… but…” She stopped. Melinda and Phil just waited, having learned that being patient and pausing usually resulted in a further explanation.

“I don’t really need new things.” Skye finished, and then looked down to where her feet were knocking softly against the side of the counter. Her left sock had a hole in the toe, but no one could see it when she put her shoes on so it didn’t really matter, having new socks might be nice though. She just didn’t want Melinda and Phil to spend lots on her, they would probably send her back to the orphanage in a week or so and she wouldn’t get to keep those things then. All wealth was sinful, that’s what the nuns said, and so the clothes and other items that had been bought for her by foster families had been distributed to kids who most needed them and the rest were given as alms to the poor.

Two hands came to rest on each of her knees, stopping her frustrated kicking, “Skye, we want to do this, let us.” It was Melinda.

“It’ll be fun.” Phil continued, “We’ll go have a look around some stores, then there’s this awesome diner just off Elm Street.”

Skye wasn’t completely listening, she was staring down at her red t-shirt, or more specifically, the dark pen stains on her red t-shirt. One of the Evans’ little girls had drawn on her while she’d been napping, Mrs Evans had tried to scrub it out but it was permanent marker. Skye had got the blame though, because she was older than their little girl and had been tasked with watching her when she fell asleep on the job.

The pen stains had faded but they were still fairly visible, _‘nobody wants a scruffy kid’_. Maybe Skye should go get new clothes, because otherwise the Coulsons might be ashamed to be seen with her and she really didn’t want that. They might send her back even sooner then.

“Okay,” Skye hopped down off the island, grinning almost convincingly as she tugged at her jeans, feeling self-conscious. They were scuffed at the knees and Melinda and Phil looked so well-dressed with Phil in his pressed dark blue suit and Melinda in her equally creaseless black blazer and slacks. People would wonder why the kid they were with was such a mess, they might think they were bad parents, and they weren’t at all, Skye didn’t want anyone to think that. At least she was clean, very clean, and her hair had lost all its knots. The 20 minutes May had spent shampooing and brushing, and then conditioning and brushing some more, had resulted in a Skye’s hair flowing sleekly in a way she didn’t think it ever had done before.

 

* * *

 

They got Skye a haircut first. Though she had tried Melinda found it hard to gage the little girl’s reaction to the whole thing, Skye seemed happy enough, but she was slowly discovering that Skye was capable of hiding pretty much anything and everything behind a smile. Phil had tactically disappeared to go hunt down the essentials so that they could cut down time.

They had deliberated a while about what to do about a short chunk near the beginning of Skye’s hairline where some little boy had, reportedly, got his motor powered Thomas the tank engine stuck in one of her locks, and instead of trying to dislodge it Skye’s former foster parents had simply cut her free. It was decided that perhaps bangs were the best way to solve that and Skye was agreeable, letting an inch of the ends of her hair go as well.

When they left it was nearing eleven o’clock and the mall was beginning to fill with people, despite it being midweek. Melinda was about to suggest Skye take her hand so she wouldn’t get lost when she felt a small hand take hers and grip it tight. The space was loud, ever-flowing and changing, with flashing lights flickering in store displays, and shadow after shadow of strangers passing over the polished floor. A tall man with wide shoulders and floppy dirty-blond hair passed by. Skye pulled herself in closer to Melinda.

Finding clothes Skye felt confident admitting to wanting proved a draining task. Soon enough Melinda just took to picking up anything she caught Skye staring at for longer than might be considered average in an attempt to take some of the pressure off the little girl. Melinda focused on summer and autumn wear given that it was July and Skye was unlikely to need anything very heavy for now, but she picked up a substantial waterproof coat just in case. They could come pick up more things in a month or so.

It wasn’t too long before they found something that made Skye light up from the inside out. It was a deep blue playsuit, like shorts in the leg it came to just below mid-thigh and cut off at the shoulder in the top, with small, shell buttons running down its front till the waist. Melinda knew that what had really caught Skye’s attention was the birds dancing across the fabric, swallows supposedly; white with tails feathers of lilac and red.

“Look! It has pockets!” Skye exclaimed as she shoved her hands into them, stood facing away from the mirror in the dressing room to grin at Melinda in a way that was so genuine in comparison to previous smiles she almost forgot to smile back.

“It’s perfect, Máomao.” Melinda agreed. It really was, not only did Skye love it, but it had enough space in the length that it would probably be good until next year. Not to mention watching Skye stand there beaming in her new clothes with a new pair of clean black converses strapped her feet made Melinda feel like they’d really achieved something today, she was sure the difficulties would come but for now she was enjoying this.

When Skye knelt down to begin taking off the shoes so she could undress Melinda interrupted her, “You don’t have to take them off if you don’t want to. How about I go pay for everything and we can cut the tags off.”

Skye hesitated, she liked the idea, but she just wasn’t sure about the plan. It meant Melinda would be leaving her alone in the changing room. What if she forgot about her and didn’t come back?

Melinda saw her worrying and figured it out fast, coming to kneel in front of her, “Here,” She held a rectangular piece of thin grey card with a silver eagle on the front out to the girl, “This is mine and Phil’s business card, our mobile numbers are on the back. If you ever get lost or upset or need us at all just call. If those numbers fail then ring the number on the front and one of our friends will come and get you. When they arrive ask for the password.”

“Password?” Skye repeated quizzically.

“I’ll tell them what to say to you so you know they’re not a stranger.” Melinda clarified.

Skye’s eyes lit up, _“ān rán wú yang!”_

 _‘Safe and sound.’_ The pronunciation was wobbly at best but Melinda could guess the meaning well enough. It was the name of the story she had read to Skye that day at the orphanage.

“ _‘ān rán wú yang’_ it is then. I’ll be back in 5 minutes.” Melinda resisted the urge to hug the girl. She’d never been a particularly cuddly person, she supposed it was her parents influence, they’d been kind but had preferred to praise her verbally rather than smother her with kisses, and Melinda hadn’t minded that at all. Sometimes though, a kid just needed a hug, no matter who you were. However, this wasn’t the right moment. She needed to give it a while longer. She had noticed Skye flinched sometimes when she or Phil got too close without her noticing. In trying not to ponder on it too much she had ended up pondering even further into its meaning. She knew this might be the case, Clint had been the same, and she knew it wasn’t personal, just an instinct created by past trauma, but it still hurt to watch.

As promised Melinda was back in five short minutes and, upon deciding they deserved a lunch break, she and Skye headed off to meet Phil at the diner he’d been chattering on about that morning.

Skye was pretty happy with the idea because her feet were beginning to hurt, even in her comfy new shoes, and she didn’t want to complain.

“Hey, look at you, Kiddo!” Phil cried as soon as Skye pattered through the doors of the diner, making her burst into a grin.

“Look at the little birds!” Skye said, pointing to one such creature printed on the fabric over her stomach.

“I am, they’re great.” Phil placed a hand on Skye’s head in a proud almost fatherly fashion, “How about you choose somewhere for us to sit and we’ll grab some food?”

Skye looked to Melinda for reassurance, the little girl really didn’t like letting them out of her sight.

“We'll be right over, Máomao.” She answered Skye’s silent question.

“Okay,” Skye scurried off to grab the last free booth.

Phil slipped his arm around May’s waist, leaning in so his lips were close to her ear, “You’ve got your ‘I’m trying not to look worried’ face on.”

She huffed, looking from where Skye was climbing into the booth to face her husband, “Today went so well, but I just feel like she’s holding back. She doesn’t trust us Phil.”

“She will, we just need to give her more-”

“-time. I know.” Melinda finished, leaving him and his arms by the counter, not wanting to leave Skye alone for long.

Phil exhaled slowly, Melinda was agitated, though today seemed to have gone smoothly as far as he could tell. However, he could see where this agitation might stem from; Clint had been like this often when they’d first taken him in, but it had always been the calm before the storm. One day he’d seem to be progressing, functioning well, smiling, and then a couple of days later he’d turn into a recluse, sleep until mid-afternoon, get frustrated and angry easily.

“You have a lovely family.” A chirpy voice spoke up behind him, and he turned to see a young dark-haired woman stood on the other side of the counter in a red uniform, smiling at him. “Your daughter is just precious.”

Phil looked back at where Skye was sat next to his wife talking animatedly, her eyes lit up, dark brown like Melinda’s, dimples appearing when she smiled, just like him. That’s when he felt it. That anticipation of falling, standing on the edge, knowing that you can’t wait to jump, knowing that you’ll fly. The anticipation of falling in love. He’d felt it only a handful of times before.

The first time he’d been 23, messing around at an event in Italy when he’d managed to make Melinda really properly laugh for the first time since he’d met her two years beforehand. It wasn’t the occasional chuckle he’d heard escape her lips many times, it was full-on deep belly laughter that filled the room and brought tears of joy to your eyes. He’d spent the next week working up the courage to kiss her when she kissed him first. Phil would spend the next 20 years trying to make her laugh like that as often as possible. It was his own personal, secret crusade.

The next time he’d been 43, and they’d just been nothing more than a something, a maybe someday someone, squirming, black and white, on a fuzzy screen in clinical doctor’s office. The excitement, the fear, the confusion all bubbling to the surface. He’d been terrified and so happy he could barely hold on to the air in his lungs. But they weren’t meant to be.

Clint had been with them 8 months, and it’d been a struggle. Supporting Clint to get up, go to school, and, in general, reintroduce himself into the world. That day he’d brought home his school report, he’d gotten his first A, in physics, and he’d look so proud and grateful. They’d made it, together. He’d slammed the front door and run into the kitchen to find Phil putting away groceries. _‘Dad! Look!’_

With Kate it had happened while he was in his office at work, two months after she’d moved in, a month after he and Melinda had signed the papers and made it official. It hadn’t happened quicker than Clint or Melinda because he loved Katie more, it’s just that it’s so much easier to fall in love with someone when they want you to. It’d been stressful day, some little boy had got himself badly hurt and his mother was threatening to sue the school. Then Katie had walked into his office, and placed a cup of coffee in front of him. A little milk, no sugar, perfect. She’d given him a small smile and squeeze on the shoulder, didn’t say anything at all, but he just knew then.

With Natasha it had been unusual, complicated, a trip and then a tumble. It had started the first time he’d seen her dance. Phil had gone downstairs early one morning, gazing through the crack in the doorway leading to his wife’s space, in search of Melinda, and had found a twirling Russian ballerina instead. Back then she’d been nothing more than Clint’s friend, a girl his son had met at the orphanage and re-encountered again recently, a passing visitor in his home. But, the way she’d danced, like she was falling in love over and over again with every note that sung, Phil had felt it too, and it had forced him to stumble.

Then one otherwise uneventful Tuesday in January the following year, it’d been snowing outside. Clint and Natasha were planning to leave to go back into the city on the Friday, Katie had made cookies that she’d somehow managed not to burn for once, which was a godsend because Clint was having one of his difficult days. One of the days where he just didn’t function properly, and needed to be dealt with delicately. Natasha had taken a couple of the warm cookies and a blanket and tucked him in on the couch, with the TV on low in the background. Within 15 minutes Clint was dozing in her lap. Phil was sat in the chair across the room… and in watching the way that beautiful girl with crimson hair had looked down upon his son in the lowering light, stroking back his hair, with the snow floating past the windows, casting their shadows on her face, he had been struck down completely. This girl loved Clint, and that’s why Phil had fallen for her. She was his now, as much as Clint, or Katie, or… now… Skye, was.

And as he concentrated on the face of that little 8 year old girl, with no family to speak of until yesterday, he came to the realisation that all it had taken this time wasn’t a demonstration of joy, or adoration, or the knowledge that he’d created this child with the woman he loved. None of that was relevant, because the reason he’d fallen in love with Skye was simply because she needed someone to love her.

 

* * *

 

  _please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts :)_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Shi shang zhi you mama hao_

 

_(part of a Chinese Lullaby sung by William May)_

_'A child without a mommy is like a weed._

_Away from mommy’s arms,_

_where can she find happiness?'_

 


	4. Twinkling Of An Eye: 1 Corinthians 15:52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit later than I would of liked but I spent last week trying to teach drama to 5 year olds ( very stressful) and now I'm actually not at home, I'm travelling in france so wi fi is a bit spotty!

Skye’s face was pressed up against the kitchen window. She’d clambered up onto the window seat and was now knelt in place on the cushion, watching and listening. The laughs and squeals from outside were muffled by the glass.

One of the bikes was blue and red, and the other was green. A pale-skinned little girl was on the blue and red bike, pedalling rhythmically, she was laughing as the equally pale boy on the green bike chased her. His own movements were jerky and erratic, like he was excited. Skye couldn’t see their faces very well, but she guessed they were about her own age, maybe a little older. A dinosaur-themed helmet blocked the boy’s hair from view, but there was a pretty brunette braid peeking out the back of the little girl’s blue bubble-themed one.

Wistfulness swam in Skye’s wide brown eyes. She wanted to ride a bike, one of her own. She wanted to play with her friends in the street. There were lots of kids in this neighbourhood, maybe one would want to be her friend?

Skye didn’t think she’d ever had a best friend. There had been a couple of girls in her class at St. Anne’s that she’d gotten along with, but the orphanage kids didn’t seem to mix with the other kids. The other girls in her class had been wary of her, she still didn’t really understand why.

Rosie was kind of the only friend Skye had, even though they’d not got along until the day Skye had left, because Skye couldn’t count Dani, she was an adult. Rosie… Skye needed to find a computer. She would do it later, after dinner. Phil was cooking behind her, and it smelt incredible. Skye tried not to think about it too much because it made her stomach rumble.

She kept watching the kids. Another little boy had joined the two others now, he had dark skin, a black and white bike with a red flag on the back, and wore a bright red helmet. It obscured his hair and face from her line of sight but she could make out a wide grin. The boy put a foot down to brake the bike, climbed off it, and motioned for the other two to follow him. And they did, without hesitation.

One of the first things Skye had noticed about her new street was that it wasn’t really a street, because it was shaped like a square, with a green in the middle, and Skye was pretty sure streets couldn’t be square-shaped. The green was about the same size as a fair-sized football field, with a splattering of trees, which thickened in some areas and was sparse in others.

Skye’s heart fell as the kids disappeared into the undergrowth. She couldn’t watch them anymore. It was only now that she realised she’d been so engrossed by what they were doing she hadn’t noticed Phil stop cooking and come to stand to her left.

“Skye, do you know how to ride a bike?” Phil sat down, wiping his hands on a Captain America apron.

Phil had bought it while they were out, and he thought it was worth that $8 simply to hear the laugh that had come out of May when she’d read the cheesy slogan _‘My secret ingredient is freedom,’_ that was printed on the front.

Skye held his gaze a moment, and then shook her head slowly.

Phil nodded, distracted, thinking about the kids Skye had been watching. Leo, Jemma and Trip. He hadn’t seen the kids in a week or so until now, which was unusual, but that probably had more to do with Phil himself being preoccupied than them. Leo and Jemma, the first couple of kids Skye had spotted, were (perhaps unconsciously) part of the reason Melinda and he had made the decision to adopt again, and choose a younger child this time around than they had done previously.

Honestly, when Tony and Pepper had returned from a few years abroad with two very special souvenirs in the form of a couple of 6 year olds, Phil had been dubious. He’d worried about the logistics of it all, about the well-being of the kids, but they’d proved resilient and settled into life in America incredibly well. Leo was an observant and smart little boy who’d always fitted like clockwork with the idealistic and cheery Jemma. Their history had been complicated and despite their, what was in theory, incredible adoptability, and Tony and Pepper’s obvious ability to provide for the kids, it had taken expensive high-end lawyers to convince the East Anglican adoption agency to allow the international adoption. Tony and Pepper had adopted the kids separately. They hadn’t been a couple at the time in any real sense and so legally Leo was Pepper’s son and Jemma was Tony’s daughter, and the kids had always considered themselves best friends rather than siblings. It was a unorthodox set-up but it seemed to work for them. Plus, Phil had never known Tony Stark to be particularly orthodox in any sense of the word.

“Hey, Kiddo, could you run and get Melinda for me? I’ll get dinner on the table.” Phil proposed, watching as the little girl scuttled off before he’d even finished the last half of the sentence. It was only day one but he already felt like Skye was part of the family, but he knew she didn’t feel that way. Phil could tell she still didn’t believe this was forever. He need to give this kid something to make her believe. Phil kept forgetting this small girl had already been through a failed adoption and three failed fostering arrangements, one of which had given her scarring not just of the mental kind. Phil stopped, swallowing, his stomach turned at the thought. All he wanted was to hold his daughter and tell her he would look after her, but Skye wasn’t ready for that.

Phil didn’t know if Melinda had noticed that Skye was very wary of him; that she flinched away, always considered her answers thoroughly before answering him, once she’d even unconsciously covered her ears when his voice had risen too loud. Phil knew Skye saw this ‘Mr Stanley Evans’ in him, and it was enough for acid to burn in the back of his throat, nauseating him completely. Phil knew it wasn’t him, Skye seemed to like him a lot, and that it was just second nature to her to react in that way, which, truthfully, was a reality that was almost just as terrifying.

Tonight Phil had made spaghetti meatballs, with plenty of pasta for Skye, who according to Melinda, needed a little feeding up. They sat at the kitchen table, since there were only three of them it didn’t make much sense to use the dining room. Nowadays Phil and Mel usually only used it regularly during breaks, when Clint and Natasha came up from the city and Kate had time free to get home from college.

Mel tried, without high preconceptions, to teach Skye how to correctly eat Spaghetti, by using a spoon and twirling the pasta round the prongs on the fork. A few minutes of frustration and laughter later she helped Skye cut up her meal. Phil had refused to remove his new apron until the end of the meal no matter how many times May rolled her eyes.

“I’ll clean up.” Melinda offered, squeezing her husband’s shoulder as she walked by. “Máomao, could you bring over your plate over to the sink?”

Skye nodded, hopping down from her seat, eager to please. She misjudged, that was all, this house was still all new to her, and she didn’t remember the island being quite so close to the table. The plate seemed to fall in slow motion, and then all at once it was a quick blur, and then it was in pieces on the floor. Upon hearing the ear-splitting crack of the china breaking off into a thousand pieces Skye’s first instinct was to protect herself. The girl wrapped her hands around her head, covering her ears, and fell to the floor, sitting, curled up like a hedgehog, face in her knees, with her arms still firmly wrapped around her ears.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Skye cried, repeating the words again and again and again. Tears were burning her eyes and the backs of her legs felt hot and angry already. She was a bad kid, but she was sorry.

Phil was first on the scene, kneeling beside the girl, “Skye, it’s okay we-” Then he reached out to touch her shoulder.

Skye screamed at his touch, the sound completely fearful and heart-breaking, she slid erratically across the floor, backing away from him until she hit the wall.

Phil froze a moment, tears pooling in his eyes, barely meeting Melinda’s as he left the room, head down.

Mel slowly sat down in front of Skye, “Skye, you need to control your breathing. You’re safe, no one will hurt you here. No one is angry with you, it was an accident.” Slowly Skye’s cries turned to sobs, and those sobs turned to sniffles.

When Skye looked up Melinda held out her hands and the Skye took them.

“You’re… not going to punish me?”

“No, it was accident.”

The surprise on Skye’s face was painful to Melinda. This girl truly believed she deserved to be punished for an accident.

The woman slowly pulled the little girl in until she had her gathered in her lap. Skye’s flushed pink cheek was hot against Melinda’s chest.

There was red on the floor, tiny droplets of it, dripping from Skye’s feet onto the pale wood. May sucked in a breath, she needed to get Skye to the bathroom.

“Can I carry you now Máomao?” May asked softly. Feeling Skye nod weakly against her Melinda scooped the girl up, carrying her chest to chest, with Skye’s arms around her neck. May was not a large woman, but she was strong and the weight of a small 8 year old was nothing to her.

Luckily the damage to Skye’s feet was minimal, just a few small cuts that needed cleaning. Melinda May was no beginner in this area, both Clint and Kate had some sort of aversion to footwear, Clint especially, and this was not the first time something had been smashed in her house. Just as long as it wasn't one of the vases her mother had bought as a housewarming present. She only had one left now; Clint had somehow managed to propel a Hershey bar hard enough into the other one to smash it to pieces.

Phil reappeared just as Melinda was applying antiseptic to Skye wounds. The man, who’d done a good job at ridding his eyes of the majority of redness, crouched beside Skye, so he was below her. He blinked rapidly, a slightly forced and sad smile on his lips.

“Skye.” He paused. “I want to tell you I would never hurt you, no matter what you did, I would never harm you. Do you believe me?”

Skye looked scared again.

Phil’s clenched jaw trembled a second, “You can say no, Skye. I just want you to be truthful with me.”

Skye’s gaze fell, Phil and Melinda waited, and then she slowly moved her head from side to side. _‘No.’_

 “O…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Okay.” Except it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. “I hope… I hope one day you will feel safe enough to believe me. I will _never ever_ hurt you, Skye.”

Phil stood to leave, turning his back to his wife and their new daughter.

“I…” Skye spoke up. Phil stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn. Skye continued, meekly, “I want to believe you.”

Phil smiled even though his heart was breaking, looking back over his shoulder, “Well then, that’s a good start.”

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Skye curled up on the couch in a set of new Thor pyjamas, with her head resting against Melinda’s thigh, and finally heard the end of that fairy tale, ‘Safe and Sound’. The prince slayed the evil sea-dragon and the villagers were free to drink from the lake once more. It took a couple of hours to do all of the translating but May was happy to do it, she could hear Skye muttering along to the story, quietly translating the words she recognised, and it made her smile every time.  

Soon it was just barely starting to get dark but Phil reminded May with a tap of his watch that Skye needed to be kept on a schedule to function properly. They’d decided to structure Skye’s days using timetable of the school she would be attending when she was ready, so that it would be easier for her to ease into life at her new school. This meant an 8 o’clock bedtime, at the latest.

Melinda only left the lounge for a moment to check on Phil and returned to see Skye had moved from the couch. She was stood in front the mantelpiece, neck straining to look at the photo frames sat there.  May swooped in a lifted Skye onto her hip so she could observe the pictures.

“Do you want to know who everyone is?” May said softly.

Skye nodded.

May pointed to the first picture. It was of a Chinese couple in their late 60s, but the photo looked to be a decade old at least. They looked not exactly happy, but content. The man was a good 7 inches taller than the woman, with kind eyes. His hair a dark grey, closer to black. The woman had a serious, business-like expression and demeanour, but her eyes looked warm yet still unyielding. Melinda had those eyes.

Skye knew who they were before Melinda told her, “That’s my Mama and Baba. Your grandparents.”

The little girl tensed. She’d never had grandparents before. Sometimes her foster siblings had grandparents, sometimes kids at the orphanage had grandparents who couldn’t look after them but still visited, but Skye had never had grandparents before.

Melinda moved on, “That’s Phil’s Mom. She’s not with us anymore.” The photo in question was of a smiley blonde woman in her 40s, this picture was definitely old, because the man next to her barely looked like a man at all yet, but it was Phil. His hair was thicker and his features softer, but his smile was just a thin and wide as it had been when he’d smiled at Skye today.

“Phil’s nineteen there.” Melinda answered Skye’s unspoken question.

The following picture was of a girl, but Skye couldn’t really see her face, she didn’t need to do so to know she was beautiful. Her hair was an intense and beautiful shade of red and she was dressed in a tight black leotard, leant in a relaxed fashion up against a wall made of mirror.

“That’s Natasha. We fostered her for a while, and she’s a part of our family. She’s at college now.” Melinda decided to leave out the bit where they almost ended up adopting her but Natasha asked them not to, and they’d only found out why three months later when Clint had announced he was going to move into the city to get an apartment and a job there to be closer to Natasha… That’d been one hell of a day. It didn’t matter that they’d never legally adopted Natasha, she was still their daughter as far as she and Phil were concerned.

The next photo never failed to make Melinda smile. Their faces filled the frame. Kate trying to take a photo, and Clint butting in on the right. Their smiles were wide and friendly in a way that also warned mischief. At least Melinda thought so.

Skye liked them already.

 The young man on the right was pale-skinned with a few barely noticeable freckles dotted over his nose. Blonde hair stuck out haphazardly from his forehead. His eyes were a bright and keen blue that was almost shocking in nature, and creases formed around his mouth and eyes when he smiled.

The girl on the left was very pretty, barely more than a teenager, with hair darker than Skye’s that framed her sweet face. The little girl thought Katie looked a lot like Melinda, except that this girl’s jaw curved in a softer fashion, and her eyes were shaped just like Skye’s; from a distance someone might mistake them for the same colour as well, but in reality the girl in the pictures eyes were a deep abiding blue. Which was unusual, but Skye thought it was very beautiful.

“This is Katie and Clint. They’re your big brother and sister.”

Skye remembered her last set of siblings. Tom had been good, a friend. He was a foster kid too, but he’d been a few years older than Skye and mostly he had just avoided her, avoided everyone. She didn't mind that. That was just the way he'd been. He'd been kind, he'd even made her food or tucked her back in when she had a nightmare. He hadn't minded that she was only 7, he'd been her friend anyway. Skye missed Tom, she supposed she always might. Along with Dani, he was the closest thing to family she'd had her whole life. While it might seem strange to be okay with Tom avoiding her Skye knew it was always better to be avoided, the alternative was worse. Carla had been awful to Skye, which was made twice as bad because Carla was 12, bigger than Tom, and a lot bigger than even a tall seven year old, let alone a very small one like Skye had been. Skye didn’t like to think of Carla as a sister because the way she had acted, that wasn’t how sisters were meant to act. Then again, Skye didn’t really know anything about sisters. Carla hadn’t been a foster kid, she lived with her dad and step-mom, Skye’s foster parents, and her dad had loved Carla a lot; he used to cuddle the girl all the time. Skye wasn’t jealous, because Mr Evans had been a mean man. She would rather live her whole life without any cuddles than be cuddled by him. Carla didn’t seem to like it much either, she cried and screamed a lot, and if Skye got caught watching her cry she got a slap. At least she knew what she’d done in that case. Mr Evans used to punish her sometimes when Skye didn’t even known what she’d done to deserve it.

But the police had taken Mr Evans away now so he couldn’t do that anymore.

“Skye?” Melinda’s tone was full of concern.

“I’m… okay” Skye answered, a little shaken, gaze still focused on Clint and Kate. They looked to happy together, maybe they didn’t want another sibling? Maybe they wouldn’t want Skye in their family?

“When are they coming home?” Skye inquired. May set the girl down on the carpet and Skye let her lead her toward the stairs, a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Soon. Perhaps not for a few weeks though.”

Skye didn’t know whether to feel sad or not. She supposed she was a bit sad, they looked friendly, and if they were Melinda and Phil’s kids then they had to be fairly nice. She would probably never get to meet them now… there was no way she would still be here in a month… with these nice parents, in this nice house, on this nice street, with nice kids playing outside on bikes. She wasn’t that lucky.

Bath tubs were a safe haven, so Skye never put up a fight when she was asked to bathe. She'd liked getting clean even when she'd been at the orphanage, which was frustrating because it was hard to get clean there. Skye used to hate bedtime. It used to mean cold showers, wet towels, and tossing and turning in scratchy blankets. The smell of soap on her skin and the taste of mint toothpaste in her mouth had always been comforting to her, but the orphanage hadn’t always offered her that.

Her first wash after leaving a family was important, almost ritualistic. She would climb in the shower smelling of them and then climb out washed of their scent, made anew. But now getting clean was different, it was about maintaining rather than washing away. Bathing in the warm bath, getting into new soft pyjamas and curling up under her new sheets was nearly the best feeling ever. However, nothing, absolutely nothing, could beat what came next. Not Phil’s pancakes. Not avenger cartoons. Not even Fairy Tales. Nothing compared to the moment Melinda tucked Skye in (the way mommies were supposed to), stroked her new bangs out her face, and whispered softly in the low light, _‘Ᾱn rán wú yang, Máomao. Sleep well.’_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Skye loved just sitting on the bed and looking around. Every time she looked there was something new she thought was wonderful. This morning it was the light on her desk, it was a desk lamp with a bendy neck, decorated lilac with tiny white stars, and Skye thought it was the prettiest lamp she’d ever seen in her whole life. Yesterday it had been the blue curtains that faded from dark to light blue. Skye thought it looked like the sky, with the night sky fading into day. The walls were all blue except for the wall with the windows and curtains, which was white. Skye had a bed, and chest of draws built into the walk-in closet in the corner, a desk, a chair, a wash basket, and a small magnetic board on the back of the door. Her closet was filled with new clothes and a fair number of new shoes as well. Skye hadn’t had as many things as this in her whole life put together.

This was not the type of thing that lasted.

Skye finished admiring her new room and got dressed, red shorts and a tie-dye t-shirt; it was quite warm out today.

Plodding downstairs Skye was wondering if anyone else was up when she heard the sound of violins, soft and assured and strong, just like the woman who was stood central to the sound. Skye stilled and sat down outside Melinda’s door, observing through the crack. Watching the woman move with such grace and control. Skye’s heart was so full of longing she had to turn her face away almost immediately. She could imagine herself, older, nearly a woman, stood beside Melinda, now her Māma, arms poised gracefully, moving like an elegant sea-creature, floating in the air. She wanted this so much, but she was so scared, so very sure that it could never be. Good things like that didn’t happen to bad kids like her. They just… didn’t.

“Skye.” Melinda’s voice reached the girl, making her jump.

Skye was slightly embarrassed but she couldn’t just ignore Melinda, that’d be rude.

“Yes?” The little girl pulled herself onto her feet and dusted her shorts off nervously.

It turned out there was little to worry about; Melinda was smiling, just barely, but Skye could see it clear as day, “You are always welcome to join me, if you want to.”

Skye walked through the open door, the sound of violins swelling, it was beautiful. Without really thinking Skye gravitated toward the wall of windows, looking out across the green at the back. She hadn’t been in their yard yet, but she wanted to. Purple, blue and red flowers bloomed, it looked well kept. A white wooden arch marked the entrance to the back of the garden, which was raised up and had a set of outdoor table and chairs placed to the right, a small greenhouse in the distance on the left.

“My Baba always loved to garden.” Melinda half explained. “I keep it neat for when he visits.”

“I like the purple flowers.” Skye said.

“You can help me plant some more later today, if you like? There’s a little sparse patch I should have gone when my parents arrive.”

“Your… your mom and dad are coming?”

The woman pursed her lips, “Sorry. Skye I wanted to talk to you about this.” Melinda knelt down in front of Skye, taking the girl’s hands, somewhat tentatively. “It’s the Ziyuan water festival next week. It’s my father’s favourite. I thought this would be the first year we wouldn’t be able to celebrate it together but my mama called last night and they’re flying over. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed. I know it’d be scary meeting all the family at once, so I’ve asked Kate, Clint and Natasha to come home at the end of the week, so you can get to know them before my parents arrive.” Melinda took in the little girl’s wide gaze and read it a little wrong, “I promise they’re all friendly.”

Skye had thought she would never meet either Melinda’s parents or her new siblings. Somehow while still being scary it did make things seem more real, fixed; meeting other members of the family was always a big step.

Skye wasn’t scared, not the way Melinda thought she was. Honestly, Skye could deal with them not liking her, ignoring her, being mean to her. That had all happened before. What she wouldn’t be able to deal with was liking them, only to be forced to leave them, without getting to know them better. It was better to want nothing, never get attached, then she was never disappointed. But, she was already attached now, in some small way, she could feel it when Melinda spoke, when Phil smiled at her. It would ache to leave them, even though she had known them so little time. It felt so good to be with them, have them fuss over her and make her dinner and tuck her in. She would probably never get this again after them. Maybe… she should make the most of it.

“Máomao?”

Skye looked up, smiling genuinely now, “Wǒ deng bù ji.” She was lucky to be here. To be meeting nice new people.

Melinda smiled, her chest swelling, both at the beautifully pronounced sentence, and its meaning; _‘I can’t wait.’_

“Xiè xie.” May responded. _‘Thank you.'_

“Breakfast.” Skye announced, steering the conversation away from all mention of the impending arrival of Melinda and Phil’s family with a quick flash of her teeth. The girl jogged off in the direction of the kitchen. May thought she’d better go supervise this particular endeavor.

Skye stood in the middle of the kitchen, last night’s incident forgotten, looking up at the cupboards and deliberating. She couldn’t use the cooker, she wasn’t allowed, which meant no pancakes. She could have cereal? Or maybe she should wait for Phil?

That was when Melinda arrived. She began to pick things out the cupboard; sugar, flour, yeast, cinnamon. She began to fill a jug with water and caught Skye watching her.

“I’m making steamed buns. You want to help?”

Skye nodded, using a stool and climbing up onto island where she’d sat and watched Phil make food yesterday.

Melinda was not a great cook, she would hardly burn down the kitchen but give her a recipe she had never encountered before and there would be chaos. Phil did most of the meals. But, there were a few recipes that were branded onto the back of her eyes, and this was just one of them. Mantou: steamed breakfast buns. Lian May’s revised version. It was the first thing Lian had ever taught Melinda to make.

Now it was only fitting that it was the first thing she taught her new daughter.

Skye mucked in with gusto; pouring water, kneeding whatever Melinda told her to kneed, and rolling strips of the dough up to look like snail shells. That was Skye’s favourite part. Phil appeared just in time to help roll his own dough. May rolled her eyes when Phil used the remaining dough to make a little star for one of his rolls, so it looked like Captain America’s shield, which Skye thought was ingenious.

Melinda poured runny honey into a bowl just at the buns finished steaming, and placed the bowl on the breakfast table. Skye jumped down on the island eagerly and ran to her seat, earning a well-meant bark from Melinda about not running in the kitchen. The harsh words were quickly forgotten as Melinda placed two warm buns on each of the three plates and called Phil to breakfast. Cinnamon was her mother’s extra ingredient, not traditional, but tasty served with honey.

For a second Skye paused, unsure whether to get cutlery, when Melinda caught her eye.

“You have to eat with your hands.” She nodded to Skye’s food, demonstrating by breaking off a bit of one of her own buns and dipping it in the honey.

Skye loved it. It tasted great, sure, but it was that extra beautiful kick of rebellion that came from eating with her fingers that she enjoyed the most. The nuns would never have allowed it.

 

* * *

 

The morning passed quickly after that. She helped wash up, watched cartoons with Phil, did some drawing, and had lunch. It was grilled cheese with a little bit of tomato pesto, Phil let her eat it sat on the island watching Captain America.

Then Melinda asked if she wanted to go out to fetch some more of those purple flowers.

The car journey wasn’t long and Skye liked watching the houses and people pass by. Every single one was different, and Skye liked spotting the little quirks. The little boy in the red hat. The house with the stripy post box. The cottage with the broken wishing well.

Soon they arrived. The flowers were surprisingly hard to find among the kaleidoscope of different flora, and Skye lagged a little behind as Melinda searched, her eyes scanning every inch. A crash from Skye’s left distracted her and she swore she heard a moan. Eager to find the source of the noise Skye headed off to take a quick look, glancing back to make sure May was still in sight. Upon approaching a group of metal carts pushed up against the wall it became apparent that there was something tangled up under a couple of them, or rather, someone. The kid was about Skye’s age, a fair bit taller, with dark skin, big, brown eyes, twinkling with laughter, and a dipped nose. He was wearing a Captain America ‘super soldier’ t-shirt and a pair of red shorts.

“Are you okay?” Skye helped him dig himself out.

“Never been better! It was just a little trip, and it looks like I haven’t even scratched myself.” The boy chuckled. “Thanks for the hand.”

“No problem.” Skye answered, truthfully. She didn’t get to interact with other kids her age that often, this was nice, and this boy seemed nice too. You didn’t get too many upbeat kids at the orphanage, this kid made a nice change of pace.

“Antoine Wilson, by the way, but people call me Trip.”

Skye didn't respond.

“And you?” He encouraged.

“Skye…” She paused, scared, she had to give him a surname. “Skye Coulson.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud. Wasn't it a lie? She wasn't a Coulson. Not really.

“Man!” Trip exclaimed, pointing at her, “You related to Mel and Phil?”

Skye gulped, “Yeah… um… they’re... looking after me.”

“You’re their new kid?” Trip continued.

Skye faltered a second, “I guess so.”

“We live just the down the street from you.”

Then it hit Skye where she’d seen this boy before. He was the boy with the red helmet who’d been riding around outside her house with those other kids.

“My parents work with your parents! At Shield Arts Centre. We’re going to be in the same class in September too.”

“Shield Arts Centre?” Skye had never heard of it.

“Yeah, you know. Your parent’s martial arts school. There are a whole bunch of them scattered around the state. Only place in the world you can learn Wǔyuè De Ping. I don't know what that is, but that’s what my mom says.”

“Skye!” May called, obviously she'd noticed the girl’s absence.

“Over here.” Skye called back. “I’m okay.” She decided to add, in case Melinda was worried.

May’s expression of distress dissipated as she approached, seeing who Skye was with, “Hey, Trip. Didn’t think you’d be here today.”

“Mom’s busy. I’m helping Nan move some plants around. Some of the saplings need to be repotted and stuff.” Trip showed the woman his mucky hands, dirt caked under his nails.

“You need a ride home?” Melinda shifted the weight of the purple plants in her arms to the left.

“Nah, I’m good thanks, got lots to do here Mrs Coulson.” The boy grinned a bright smile.

“Okay then.” Melinda couldn’t help but smile, Trip made it so easy, not to mention the boy was making Skye smile too which was wonderful to see. It was good that Skye would already have at least one friend when she started 3rd grade.

"Bye Skye!" Trip cried through cupped hands as Melinda and she exited the emporium. 

“Bye Trip.” Skye called back, waving as Melinda led her away. She hoped she’d see Trip again soon. He’d said they’d been in class together in September, but Skye knew there was no way she’d still be here in September. She just had to hope she’d see him around their street again before she left.

 

* * *

 

 

 

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	5. Straight And Narrow: Matthew 7:14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to incorporate Clint and Kate's back stories into this chapter. Hope this does the trick!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: CHILD ABUSE AND EXPLICIT LANGUAGE.

_It was safe and it was warm and it was nice. The sun was kind today, sending glistening light across the water in front of her, reaching out as far as Skye could see. Sitting under the blossoming cherry trees, pink petals falling like kisses onto her head and shoulders, a picnic blanket tucked underneath her. Skye scooped up the petals around her, throwing them up above her with a smile, eyes bright and wet with joy. They drifted down again, floating in the air slowly, strangely._

_Melinda’s hand appeared, the woman kneeling beside Skye on the blanket, brushing the little girl’s hair from her forehead and holding her face._

_“Look at you, Máomao.” Melinda smiled the way she always smiled; it was small, but it was safe and it was warm and it was nice._

_Phil’s voice came next, “Pretty as a petal.” Grinning, the man set down a picnic basket._

_“You hungry, Kiddo?” He inquired, crouching at the girl’s side._

_Skye nodded._

_Suddenly they were by the water, feet in the shallows. The sun was still high, looking down on the family. Phil swung Skye up into his arms, and she liked it, she laughed. Skye laughed loud, and it felt wonderful._

_“Be careful, Phil!” Melinda warned._

_But she didn’t need to. Phil’s arms were safe, Skye was safe now._

_“It’s okay.” He told his anxious wife, and turned to his small daughter, “You feel safe, don’t you Skye? Because you love us… don’t you Skye?”_

_There was no doubt, not in this world, not on this 2D yet somehow multi-faceted plane of existence._

_The little girl wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, arms locked, secure, “Yes.”_

_She looked to her mother, eyes big, and brown, and happy, “I do now.”_

It was that sudden epiphany that startled Skye into consciousness and threw her from her dreams while it was still dark outside. Tears began to form, pooling in her eyes, their whites growing pinker as water tipped and tumbled down her hot cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to wake up.  In her dream everything had been certain, and here so many things were ambiguous.

Bad things happened when Skye told people she loved them, but she could still think it.

Soft, regulated snores could be heard coming from the bedroom down the other end on the landing as Skye approached, bare soles slapping against the cold wood in the still quiet of the night.

The door was cool, painted wood. It creaked just a little as Skye rested her head against it. The girl held her breath, tears still continuing to roll down her face, dripping off her wobbling chin.

The snoring within continued as even as before. They slept on.

Skye let out her breath. Her face scrunched up in concentration, forehead against the door, concentrating hard as she could, _‘I love you Melinda.’_ She thought, pressing the confession through the wood into the room beyond, _‘I love you Phil.’_

“Do you love me?” Skye whispered, silent sobs stealing the contents of her lungs, wet lips brushing their door. Stepping back she covered her mouth with both hands to the stop a heavy sob that threatened to break forth, betraying her.

The scared, hurting little girl returned to her lovingly painted little blue room, hoping that by tomorrow she could bury this outburst beneath a smile and the strength of character she didn’t know she possessed but had been honing her whole life. Believing her affections to be unrequited, Skye climbed under the covers, not yet knowing that while her dream was mere fantasy she was in fact in this world, on this plane of existence, warm, safe, and very much loved.

 

* * *

 

 

Skye wobbled even more than usual today. Arms reaching slowly forward when Melinda’s did, but with less finesse. Usually the soft music flowed through her giving her a strength and focus she couldn’t quite grasp otherwise, but today Skye couldn’t bring herself to listen, her mind was unfocused.

 _‘The first step in Tai Chi is a focused mind,_ _Máomao. You have to become completely aware of yourself, not only of your body but of your inner self. Up here.’ The woman rested a single, careful finger on Skye’s forehead._

Eventually Skye put her arms down and broke stance, sighing.

“Tired?” Melinda asked kindly, pausing a moment.

The girl didn’t answer straight away, her eyes flickering with something May recognised.

It was then that Melinda left the music behind and came to stand before her rather small young student, “It’s normal to be anxious, Skye, but there’s no need.”

Skye moistened her lips, choosing to say nothing. Truthfully she wasn’t sure what to say. That she was scared that her new siblings wouldn’t like her? That they wouldn’t want her around. Should she mention that she didn’t have great history with siblings? They’d never really liked her before, how would now be different?

 _‘They’re Melinda and Phil’s kids though.’_ Skye thought, noting that logic suggested that they had such nice parents there was a fair chance they might be nice to. They looked friendly in the photos.

“They’re excited to meet you.” Melinda continued.

Skye perked up at her words, eyebrows rising a tad, intrigued, “They are?”

Melinda moved back to her spot on the mat, the corner of her mouth twitching, “Katie made excuses saying she couldn’t come home this week until I reminded her that then you were going to meet Clint and Natasha without her.”

Skye took Melinda’s words in and ran them over and over again in her mind but she failed to quantify them.

“I don’t understand?” Skye admitted, resuming her position beside Melinda.

“I think they’re fighting over whose going to be your favourite.”

“They’re… fighting over me?” Skye froze. The sorts of things she had worried about were being ganged up on or being ignored, this was certainly not something she’d foreseen.

“I think they’re just excited.” Melinda said simply.

 _‘Excited.’_ Skye mulled the word over in her mind. _‘Excited?’_ To meet her? Were they as desperate for her approval as she was for theirs? Probably not, but Skye found so comfort in the knowledge they were giving her a chance, that they wanted to like her. She couldn’t mess this up, Skye was desperate to stay with the Coulsons as long as possible.

 

* * *

 

Clint ran his hand through his hair again, one hand on the wheel. He’d tugged a comb through it when he got out the shower this morning but it was already a mess.

He heard Natasha sigh next to him, and turned to consider his girlfriend and her withering expression.

“You need to calm down, Barton. It’s just an 8 year old, she’s not gonna bite…” Nat seemed to reconsider that last bit, “well she’s probably not going to bite.”

Clint shot her an unimpressed look. He gripped the wheel tighter.

There was a moment of silence, the whirring of the engine filling the space.

“Lucky thinks you should chill out.” Natasha added, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Upon hearing his name the Golden Retriever yapped shortly from the back.

“See.” Nat mumbled.

“Let me brood in peace, Romanoff.” Clint furrowed his brow, eyes on the road ahead.

Clint’s thoughts drifted to the words exchanged about Skye with his father earlier that morning over the phone.

_‘Clint I better warn you, Skye has been through a lot... she needs-’_

_‘You know I’ll be careful.’_

_‘I know.’_

Phil didn’t have to tell Clint how it was, he knew first hand.

That first couple of months with the Coulsons he’d been so terrified, he’d flinched way from his new family, avoided contact almost completely. He’d been so scared of getting hurt he’d almost sabotaged it; his second chance.

Phil was a good man, he’d worked so hard to finally get through to Clint, and the boy owed him a lot, but when they’d first met Clint had been terrified. A new father? As far as 15 year old Clint Barton was concerned a father was someone who smacked you when you were bad and yelled when you were good. Clint hadn’t wanted a new father.

He hadn’t wanted a new mother either, even years after her death replacing Edith Barton felt wrong somehow. He didn’t remember much, except that he gotten his fair looks from her, that she’d been a quiet soul, and that she’d not been strong enough to stand up to Clint’s father, even when he’d struck their sons. Edie had tried though, all whilst knowing beyond hope that she wasn’t strong enough. The one thing Clint would always remember was that she’d tried.

It was Melinda’s strength and capability that had won Clint over. Edie hadn’t been strong enough to protect him, Melinda most definitely was, and for the first time in his life he’d felt safe. He’d stayed awake every night until 12, because at midnight, every night, without fail, Melinda had opened his door, checked on him, and gone back to bed. There came a point where Clint couldn’t drift off peacefully until he heard the click of the door as it opened, and then closed a minute later. He’d grown out of that phase eventually, besides now he had Natasha close by to keep him safe through the night. She was a force to reckoned with too.

Clint knew Skye must have been through something, an abuse like he’d experienced; lots of kids in the fostering system came from less that picturesque backgrounds and situations.

Even at five years old Clint had known it was wrong to feel only relief when his parents died in a drink-induced car crash. His father ending his mother’s life, even at such a young age Clint had known that ending was almost inevitable. He had cried for his mother, for his own loss, not for hers, thinking that she must be thankful that she could go to heaven now, somewhere his father could certainly not follow her. _‘God can protect her now, Clint. I bet she’s real happy.’_ Barney had soothed his brother as the tears had fallen. Clint had a fairly comprehensive understanding of death from very early on, truthfully, he had been no ordinary five year old. To quote his file he’d been _‘raised in such a toxic environment he was lucky to have survived’_.

_‘Harry, Please! Leave him alone!’ Edie cried shaking, her pretty face red and blotchy, tears streaming. Harold Barton had shoved her to the floor as he was crossing the room to roughly scoop up the cowering, tearful four year old._

_‘Why do you do this to me Edie? You make my life so fucking stressful you know that?” Harry hissed, gripping his tremoring son to his chest._

_‘You see this kid.’_

_Edie hid her face._

_‘Look at the fucking kid Edie!’_

_Clint Barton was just a couple of months past his fourth birthday, bloodshot blue eyes, short blonde hair sticking up in every direction, and a spiritless demeanour caused undoubtedly by his less that loving father._

_‘Look. Little bastard’s peed himself and now you’re gonna clean it up.’ Harold told his wife. He dumped a tiny Clint Barton back down on the carpet._

_‘Fucking defective kid. Look at this Edie.’ Harold pointed to the hearing aids in Clint’s ears, ‘This is your fault and whose pocket does it come out of? Fucking mine that’s whose!’_

_Edie whimpered, ‘I’m sorry.’_

_Harold kicked a nearby toy car up into his wife face leaving a red mark on her cheek, his own face showing only his detachment, it was drawn into something verging on inhuman._

_‘No way is that disgusting little bastard mine. I bet you were messing around with that stuttery guy, Jim, at work you know, now the kid’s messed up even more than he is, huh.’_

_‘Harry no.’ Edie sobbed._

_‘Shut the hell up, I’m going out.’ Harry growled._

_‘Harry. Harry, please!’ Edie said, her begging doing nothing to soften the man’s heart as he ripped his coat from its hook and slammed the door violently as he exited._

_Little Clint Barton sat in the spot where his father had dropped him, his little accident soaking through his pants, listening to his mother continue to sob from her spot on the apartment floor._

_There was movement to his right, two feet, not big enough to be those of an adult but bigger than Clint’s._

_‘Barney.’ Clint whispered, looking up at his big brother, seeing a dark mop of hair just like their father’s but with much kinder eyes underneath, ‘I made an accident.’_

_Barney nodded, reaching out to help Clint onto his feet, ‘I’ll run a bath.’_

_‘Bubbles?’_

_‘I’ll try to make some bubbles.’ Barney put his arm around his baby brother and led him away from their mother, still a heap on the carpet, heartbroken and helpless._

A warm hand covered Clint’s where it was rested on the gearstick, Natasha didn’t say anything, in fact she didn’t even look at him but he knew it was a reminder, bringing him back into the present, three years ago that memory would have sent him spiralling; he’d made it now. He was happy, and now Skye had been given the chance to be happy too. She just had to give herself a chance. That was the first step, and the hardest.

 

* * *

 

Kate Bishop waited exactly 40 minutes for her brother after getting out the airport before she considered hailing a cab. It was exactly then that he chose the moment to arrive, swerving round the corner and across the road into a small lay-by at a speed that was ill-advised and most probably illegal.

“Hey Stranger.” A familiar voice called from the little blue car as it ground to a squealing halt.

It was with those words that Natasha Romanoff’s head appeared, pretty blue eyes glittering in the sunlight, though they were no match for her long red hair as the sun’s rays set it alight.

It was a beautiful day today; appropriately sunny with a few fluffy clouds drifting across the pale blue.

Clint clambered out the other side of the car.

“Hey Nat. Hey…” Kate’s sentence was cut off as Clint grabbed her arms and pulled her into an almost suffocating bear-hug.

“Hi.” Clint said shortly, his words muffled by her shoulder.

“Miss me?” Kate giggled, shoving at him, not very forcefully, to get him to let go.

He eventually did, “Nope.” Clint answered, picking up her bags and shoving them in the boot of his grimy looking little hatchback. “How was Madagascar?”

“I was in Morocco, doofus.” Kate rolled her eyes. 

“Cool.” Clint said, only half listening as he wiped his hands on his jeans.

Kate ran her index finger along the surface of Clint’s vehicle and examined the result; the pad was black.

“You know Clint sometimes you should take a sponge to this thing.”

“I’ll second that.” Nat sighed from the front seat.

“Or you could be the best little sister in the world and do it for me?” Clint called back, ignoring Natasha’s comment and slamming the back of the car.

Kate grabbed her handle and pulled, sliding into the back seat next to Lucky, “Am I getting paid? Hey Fluff!” The last part was directed at the dog who’d become increasingly excited by Kate’s presence. Before she’d gone travelling Kate had spent a couple of weeks in DC at Clint and Natasha’s, Lucky and herself had become fast friends and the adorable one-eyed mongrel clearly remembered her fondly.

“For one car wash I will give you…” Clint sat down in the driver’s seat, wriggling around to reach his pockets so he could dig around. He presented his findings. “Three elastic bands, five band aids, and a token for a free burrito from Taco Bell.”

Katie gave him a hard stare, “You’re a cheap bastard, Mr Barton.”

Natasha laughed as they pulled out the lay-by, “Might want to clean up the language a tad before you’re presented to your new little sister Katie.”

“Wow.” Kate shook her head.

“What?” Clint asked, turning out onto the main road. They were well on their way now.

“I’m going to be a big sister.” Katie grinned to herself, looking out the window as trees and buildings rushed by, rubbing Lucky between the ears absentmindedly. Kate Bishop had always wanted to be a big sister.

Unlike Clint, Kate Bishop had no history of abuse, no horror stories to tell. Her past was neither terrifying nor heinous, it was just, quite simply, sad. A sad story about a sad little girl sitting alone in a big, empty, sad house. A sibling to play with would have been a blessing.

Her mother was a prominent Manhattan socialite back in the 70s, with long, sleek, dark hair and high heels that looked primed to kill. She’d died in hospital shortly after a violent mugging when Kate was only two years old. Katie had no memories of Eleanor Bishop. Sometimes when she was younger she had wondered ‘what if’? What if her mother hadn’t died? But Kate was pretty sure she’d never looked back after her adoption, after all, Melinda was her mother now.

Kate didn’t remember her father much either, what she did remember was that he wasn’t there. He was ‘far too busy’, out at events, work, meetings, travelling all the time. Until the age of eight Kate Bishop had been very wealthy, and very lonely.

Her eighth birthday had arrived with extravagant gifts, an impersonal apology sent via email from Beijing, and the knowledge that she was old enough for her father to ship her off to boarding school in Boston. She left Manhattan two weeks later.

Years later she attended his funeral, stone-faced, unable to make herself cry over a man she’d hardly known. She couldn’t bring herself to grieve his loss when she’d already done that so many years ago.

Kate had watched the pretty woman who was her step-mother, someone she’d only met on a few occasions, sob over her father, and wondered whether the man was really worth all those tears.

 With his death his company had crumbled, sold to a buyer for a fraction of its true worth. The new Mrs Bishop got her payday and Katie’s inheritance was protected but the girl still ended up in the system.

Kate didn’t believe in a God, her father had been an adamant atheist. Making sure that Katie was well-educated, that she was tutored in a wide variety of subjects, from violin to physics. She’d had a special tutor visit every Saturday to educate her on her father’s native language and culture, as it turned out learning mandarin had been advantageous. However, there had been no classes on religion, Derek Bishop had cut it out of her education, seeing it as a waste of time. But, there’d been a few nights after her adoption where Kate had knelt down by her bed, put her hands together, and thanked whatever or whoever was out there for her good fortune, for giving her a new family to truly be a part of. She did it because it made her feel good, because she was truly thankful, and because some still slightly resentful part of her brain knew her father would have hated it.

It had taken Phil to show her what a father really was; he’d made her cocoa on early morning starts, held her and tried to make her laugh when she cried over silly things, and been disappointed when her blunt, stubborn nature had caused her to make rash decisions simply because he truly believed she could ‘be and do better’. More than that, he’d shown her what it was to have a ‘Dad’. That easy, secure feeling of having someone who will watch over you as long as they live and long after even that.

Melinda had been a different story to Phil. Kate’s knowledge of mothers was practically non-existent, she and Melinda had worked up from nothing. That’d been relatively easy.

But Phil, he’d had the hard job of sifting through a (albeit short) lifetime of bad experiences and broken promises, and he’d done so with great care and determination. Phil Coulson was Kate Bishops’ hero. She was a daddy’s girl after all, who’d have thought it?

Kate wondered whether Skye leaned one way or the other in that respect.

 

* * *

 

Skye had been sat in the kitchen an hour now, waiting, watching. Looking out, her legs crossed on the window seat. Melinda kept glancing over and smiling. She was unbearably cute in her little blue dress and bare feet, eyes brighter than May had ever seen them. Behind Skye’s pupils anxiety and excitement executed a complicated dance of dominance.

It was two minutes past one in the afternoon when a slightly worse for wear, small, blue car turned into the street and drew up to the house.

Skye shied away from the window, her bangs flopping over her face, hiding her further. She slipped off the window seat, settling herself behind the wall adjacent to foyer where no one looking through the window would be able to see her. Her fingernails bit into her sweaty palms.

Melinda crouched down in front of her, and Skye was happy to give the woman her hands, “Come, Máomao.” She whispered.

Skye was led to the door where she promptly hid behind Melinda, her hands gripping the material of the woman’s pants. She could hear the slamming of car doors, chatter, and laughter. Beautiful uplifting laughter.

 

* * *

 

Clint threw the bags straight at Katie, dumping a huge duffle on her.

“Jesus, Clint.” Kate complained as the bags landed in her arms… mostly.

“Wimp.” Clint quipped, shrugging his own bag over his shoulder and slamming the car closed with the other hand.

“You got a key?” Kate redirected the conversation.

Clint’s hands went to his pockets, digging around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He could have sworn he put his keys in his back jeans pocket.

“I have it.” Nat held up Clint’s keys, jangling them around a little.

Clint stared at his girlfriend with disbelief, his hand still stuck in his back pocket, “When did…? How the hell did I not notice you do that?”

Kate snorted loudly and burst into peals of laughter. The sound made it hard for Natasha not to fall into fits of laughter herself but she held it together, smiling widely and turning to advance on the door.

It opened with a satisfying and familiar click and the three kids practically fell through the door. They were home.

There was a chorus of “Mom!” as Melinda’s smile greeted her older children.

It was then that Clint Barton noticed the smaller human firmly attached to his mother’s leg, apparently using her as a kind of shield. The little girl was all long dark hair, gazing upward at him with unbearably beautiful, brown doe eyes.

Clint made sure he was a respectful distance away from Skye before holding out his hand, “Hey, you must be Skye?”

The little girl nodded, taking his hand carefully.

Clint’s brain worked on overdrive, trying to think of something to say, “I like your dress.” It was plain and blue and she really did look quite cute.

The corners of Skye’s mouth drew up into a slight smile, “Thank you.”

“I’m Clint.” He offered next, and then pointed behind himself “And this is-”

“I know. You’re Natasha and you’re Kate.” Skye said confidently nodding to each of the girls in turn, her hand still gripped Melinda’s pants but her face was in full view now.

Clint couldn’t help but stare. There was something so familiar in Skye’s face.

It was in that moment that Phil came trotting down the stairs, urgency in his descent, eager to be reunited with his other children. He greeted them, giving Clint a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Dad,” Kate moved in as soon as Clint backed away and was pulled into a tight embrace by her father.

Clint continued to try to figure out what it was about Skye without staring, his eyes flickering from her face to the floor and back again.

“Hey boy!” Phil finally headed toward a straining Lucky, held back by Natasha, the dog jittered on its back legs, desperate to jump up to greet the man but knowing he shouldn’t. Phil rubbed the dog between his ears and he calmed slightly.

Skye shuffled on her feet, her grip on Melinda loosening. She had always wanted a dog.

“Skye, come say hello. This is Lucky.” Phil beckoned to the little girl.

Skye slowly approached, her eyes hopeful, she knelt by the dog and scratched him tentatively behind the ears. Not put off by the dog’s one-eyed appearance, the girl seemed indifferent. Lucky panted happily, placing his paw on Skye’s lap and nudging her in the nose with his large, wet one.

Skye laughed. She smiled wide, her fingers still scratching Lucky’s ear, mouth open with joy. She almost seemed to glow with it. The sound was unexpected, and it all but knocked Melinda and Phil off their feet. They exchanged a look, one neither of them could quite quantify. This was the first time they’d ever heard Skye laugh. The atmosphere changed, sweeping over every member of Skye’s small, new family.

Suddenly it hit Clint what he’d seen in Skye; he looked at his parents and watched them share something over this girl. He’d known it himself as soon as he’d gazed into Skye’s eyes. There was an air of entirety about her. Something about her that made Clint feel like he’d spent forever searching for the last piece of his own personal puzzle and right here he’d found it. Clint gazed to his right, seeing his own wonder reflected in Natasha and Kate’s eyes as well.

Skye was meant to be here. There was no way they were going to let her go. She was family now. 

 

* * *

 

 

_please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_

 

* * *

 


	6. Sign Of The Times: Matthew 16:3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long wait is totally my fault with no excuse, but I'm hoping this primarily happy chapter will make up for that. This is basically 'bonding time'.

Her heart was beating. Hard. Fast. Skye bit down on her lip forcefully, so much so she thought her front teeth might sink into the pink flesh there, drawing blood. What she was doing, it was a betrayal of trust; maybe she deserved to bleed.

She was in the office. Not daring to turn on the light she’d clambered onto the swivel chair in the dark, knocking her ankle painfully against the desk. She was terrified, but she’d promised Rosie, and Skye didn’t break her promises.

The light of the computer was harsh, too bright until her eyes adjusted. It was still quite dark out and Skye had grown used to dim nature of the night.

As soon as she’d logged in she went to work. She hadn’t needed to work particularly hard to get Phil’s login information, by pure luck he had it typed into the notes on his phone, the phone he’d let her borrow to play games on yesterday.

She’d scanned in the photo, for all the good it would do. She was running what was basically a backwards google search. If she was lucky Rosie’s dad might have the same photo on his Facebook or something. It was a long shot, she knew that, but she tried anyway.

Skye had always liked computers. They were easy to understand, they had a code, a set of rules. From her Gameboy to the Laptop the Evans had told her to use, they’d been a part of her life for a long time. Mr Evans had taken advantage of that. He’d said all the kids under his roof needed to ‘pay their dues’, and one way or another he’d made sure they did. Skye had been one of the luckier ones.

Working on the computer had been Tom’s job, doing the chores Mr Evans didn't want to do, but he was slow, unsure. When Mr Evans came back he used to get angry. The sound of the man bringing his hand down on Tom, the purple and yellow blossoms on the boy’s back, those hidden inflictions; it all still haunted Skye.

Skye’s job had been to watch Pattie, the second youngest, only 3 years old, but Skye wasn’t very good at it. Pattie was naughty and Skye got tired easily, falling asleep on the worn couch, her stomach aching and moaning at its own emptiness.

One day the sound of Mr Evans cruelty had been too much, Tom’s whimpers too heart-breaking.

_‘Two heads are better than one.’_

That’s what she’d told him. Tom had told her what he knew, a wriggling Pattie tucked under his arm, and she’d guessed from there. When she’d touched that keyboard for the first time in her life she’d felt in control, and knowing what to do had come as naturally to her as breathing.

When Mr Evans had come home he hadn’t believed it. It was the only time Skye saw him truly happy, but, still, it was a cruel, cold, selfish happiness.

She’d been put in charge of the computer after that. Mr Evans had ordered her about, teaching her, torturing her with hot breath at her ear and rough, unfamiliar fingers laid over hers on the mouse. She was driven to perfection in the hopes that if she was perfect he’d have no reason to stay so close. Waking every day to sit at that laptop and type, wash the dishes, clean after Pattie and the baby, and wait until Mr Evans dropped a pop tart in front of her nose and told her to go to bed.

She spent a no more than a couple of months in his custody. Then, there were men in blue uniforms at the door, and they were yelling so loud she couldn’t bear it. They’d found her, shivering, hiding beneath a dented, wooden desk.

“Come on.” The little girl hissed, resisting slamming her hand down in frustration on the desk as a set of less than desirable results flickered up on the screen. He wasn’t there. There was nothing obvious, no easy way to find this guy. She needed a different approach.

“Skye?” A groggy, gruff voice reached her, a shadow reaching across the floor, a silhouette against the light from the hall.

She sealed her lips, breathing in through her nose erratically, nostrils flared. Fear burned in her bones.

“What are you doing?” Clint’s tone wasn’t one of anger, just curiosity.

“I’m sorry.” Skye said, her voice a mouse’s whisper, unconsciously avoiding answering his question. Her hands slowly drew away from the computer and hid themselves in her lap, but it was too late to hide what she’d been doing.

“Are you okay?” The young man moved a little closer, his features still drowned by darkness. Skye could make out the edges of his baggy sleepwear, the unkempt mop of blond atop his head, and the glint of his blue eyes.

“Yes.” Her voice was still small.

“Who’s that?” The boy asked softly. He came to stand beside her, still a respectful distance away.

Skye sucked in a breath, “I don’t know.” _‘Yet’_ she added subconsciously.

“Okay.” Clint ran a hand through his bed-hair, features wrought with confusion. “What are you looking him up for then?”

“I’m not allowed to tell.” Skye’s shoulders were up around her ears protectively. She refused to look Clint in the eyes.

Clint Barton’s body stiffened, he knelt slowly, pulling on the office chair, turning Skye to face him. The worst possible scenarios raced through his mind, sent his thoughts into turmoil, but he managed to remain calm on the surface. For Skye’s sake, and for his.

“Skye, who told you to do this?”

The little girl’s eyes narrowed, “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

She was putting on a brave face, but Clint could see the weak tremor of her jaw. The secret was weighing on her and she wanted to tell him.

“Who made you promise?” Clint persisted, eyes trained on his new little sister.

“Rosie.” Skye sighed, “Rosie, but she didn’t _make_ me, I just promised all by myself.”

“Rosie?” Clint was almost startled, he’d expected a more sinister name, “Who’s Rosie?”

“My friend at St Agnes. She wants to find her dad, but all she has is this one picture and it’s useless.” Skye whined, her exasperation apparent.

Clint sighed, his eyes looking up toward heaven in relief, “Thank god.”

“You’re not mad?” Her enormous brown eyes bore into him ceaselessly.

“No, but…” Clint gritted his teeth absentmindedly as he considered the situation, “I do have to tell Dad.”

“No!” Skye yelled, her hands flying to Clint’s face as he continued to kneel in front of her, little hands on his cheeks, “No, you can’t tell Phil, or Melinda, please, Clint. You can’t tell them.”

Clint groaned and drew his own eyelids tightly together. Those huge brown eyes were going to be the death of him. “I can’t let you do this alone, Kiddo.”

The little girl looked to be on the verge of tears. He knew that, for some reason, this was incredibly important to her. He didn’t want to break her heart so soon after he’d just met her, he didn’t want her to see him as someone she couldn’t trust.

Clint rubbed his brow, “Okay, how about we don’t tell Dad…”

Skye perked up a little, blinking rapidly to banish her tears.

“…how about, I help you with this.” Clint suggested. At least she couldn’t get into too much trouble is he kept an eye on her. “Two heads are better than one.”

He must have said the right thing because Skye swallowed the last of her tears and gave him a small smile, her eyes shining. It was a start.

 

* * *

 

“Morning, Máomao.” May greeted her youngest daughter as she plodded into the guǎn.

“Morning.” Skye responded, a little sheepishly. She was still in her pyjamas, warm purple socks adorned her feet, her hair falling haphazardly about her face.

The sound of violins already flowed softly through the air, reaching and filling every corner of the space. The setting was familiar now, a morning ritual.

Skye turned the face the windows, standing slightly behind Melinda so that she could copy her actions. Movements not too quick, not too slow, completely even, just like she’d been taught.

Natasha joined them after a while, slipping into it, beside them, like she’d never been gone. Katie came later, yawning as she approached.

May breathed in the atmosphere, even with her eyes closed she could sense them. Her daughters. All of them together.

“Dad says breakfast in 5.” Clint popped his head round the door, his tone almost apologetic, aware of his interrupting.

Skye broke stance immediately, gasping, and scuttled over to the door, speedily slipping past Clint.

The action earned a laugh for Katie.  “We are definitely related.” The girl grinned quietly to herself, swiftly following her new little sister.

The smell of pancake batter sizzling was Skye favourite smell now. She was pretty sure. And the kitchen was heavy with it. Phil looked at home, leant over the stove, sprinkling flour and humming quietly to himself.

The smell had caught Lucky’s attention to. The dog was settled in the corner of the kitchen, lazily sniffing the air.

Skye slid over to Phil, socks failing to grip the smooth floor, and grabbed his waist to steady herself. She gulped, but Phil didn’t react visibly. Skye loosened her grip, but kept her arms around him, surprised, noting that it didn’t feel weird, or particularly scary. He was solid, as trustworthy physically as she’d found him to be emotionally.

“You okay?” The man asked, keeping his eyes on the pan, wrapping his fingers around the handle and shifting his arm back and forth to loosen the pancake. His free hand came down and tentatively rested on the top of her head, a tiny signal that he was okay with her being there, more than okay with it.

“Did you put choc chips in mine?” Skye said, resting her chin on his side so she could look up at him.

Phil laughed, “That’s classified.”

Skye pouted, unsure of what that meant exactly.

“Katie, can you lay up.” Phil threw the words over his shoulder as his daughter emerged from the foyer. “Someone get the syrup.”

“Got it.” Clint nodded, moving over to the corner cupboard. He grabbed the bottle and flipped it in his hand with ease.

“Clint, the plates.” Phil gestured to the steaming mass of plates to his right, piled high with piping hot pancakes.

“Yup,” The boy said, placing the syrup in the center of the dining table.

“Go sit up, Angel.” Phil told Skye, running his hand over her head one last time and nudging her in the direction of table. She slipped into place just as Natasha and Melinda made their entrance.

“I’ve missed that smell,” Natasha admitted as she joined Skye, sitting to the little girl’s left. “Clint burns _everything_.” She added.

Clint’s eyes narrowed, approaching the table, plate in hand, “I _was_ going to serve you second but now you can wait.” The young man sidled up to Skye, presenting her with 3 pancakes, complete with a number of well-placed chocolate chunks arranged into a smiley face. “For the little lady.”

“Thank you.” Skye said quickly, eager to dig in, but she waited patiently.

May chose the empty seat to Skye’s right, eyes flicking to the girl from the food, “You can start, Skye, it’s okay.”

“Okay.” The girl cut off the largest section possible and stuffed it into her mouth, her lips twisted into a supressed smile, the taste of chocolate heavenly, filling her cheeks.

“Good?” Katie asked from across the table, deep, dark eyes glinting with a certain adoration. She cut off a huge chunk of her own in solidarity, shovelling it in.

Skye nodded frantically, quickly swallowing and diving in for the next bite.

 

* * *

 

It was a soft growl that drew Natasha to the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door opened silently, and Natasha peeked around the corner. Just checking to make sure the little girl was alright.

Skye was sat on the stool at her desk, brush in hand, commencing a battle with her hair. She huffed, tugging the handle insistently. Natasha grimaced in empathy.

“May I?” Natasha said, entering the room with care.

Skye spun to face the woman, her hands still on the brush. After a moment she nodded slowly.

Natasha sat on Skye’s bed, and patted the space beside her, beckoning.

Skye obeyed, removing the brush from her hair. She handed it to Natasha as she clambered onto the bed. Settling down on the sheets, her legs crossed.

“Sometimes all you need is a little help.” Natasha explained softly. “You have to work from the bottom upward, you see?” She managed to loosen one of the knots with a few simple, careful strokes of the brush.

“Okay.” The little girl would have nodded, but she didn’t want to jog Natasha.

“It’s actually not too knotted. You have very pretty hair, Skye.” The older girl was sound and swift in her ministrations. Within a few seconds the hair at the back of Skye’s head was sleek once more.

Skye bit her lip, “I always thought it was boring. Boring and brown... I like your hair.”

“Well I think yours suits you.” Natasha gathered the longer locks at Skye’s hairline with her hand, bangs falling through her fingers, she bushed even though Skye didn’t really need it anymore. “Would you like it braided?”

“Braided?” Skye said tentatively, a sudden glint flitting about in her eyes. She didn’t think anyone had ever braided her hair before.

Natasha smiled to herself, “I’ll go get Katie; she’s the best at it.”

20 minutes later Kate was sat admiring her work. Skye’s hair plaited neatly into two French braids down the sides of her scalp, her bangs flopping over her forehead. She was dressed in dark blue shorts and a tie-dye top, hands behind her back, shuffling her feet back and forth.

“Have you ever seen anything so cute?” Katie sighed, looking her blushing little sister up and down. “I mean, I’m biased, obviously, but…”

“Are you girls…” Melinda entered the room, her voice died as she laid eyes on Skye, looking between her two older daughters. “Oh… Skye…” Melinda could finally really see her face, she wasn’t hidden behind layers of long, dark hair.

“I know.” Katie grinned proudly.

“Tasha and Katie braided my hair.” Skye felt the need to explain, tucking a non-existent strand behind her ear self-consciously.

“I can see that, Máomao.” May said, momentarily overwhelmed.

“Are we going now?” Skye wrung her hands, unused to all the attention she was currently receiving.

Melinda hummed softly, nodding, “Go put your shoes on.” She mouthed a, “Thank you,” to Kate and Natasha as Skye jogged past her, and turned to follow the little girl as she thundered down the stairs. 

Kate smiled even wider, holding out her hand to Natasha.

With a roll of her eyes Tasha responded, indulging Katie and slapping her own hand down into her sister’s in a half-hearted high-five.

 

* * *

 

“See that one, the really bright one over there.” Clint steadied his finger, shuffling a little closer to Skye in the darkness, no doubt rubbing grass stains into the back of his t-shirt.

“…yes.” Skye lied, squinting up into the darkness, white, glittering pinpricks decorating the dark blue.

“That’s cancer, or the center of cancer anyway... probably.” Clint tucked his hands behind his head.

“Your birthday’s July 2nd, right?” Natasha inquired, propping herself up on one arm, turning to face Skye. The red-haired girl was laid down on the grass to her left.

“Yep.” The little girl said.

“Well then that’s your star sign.” Tasha smiled.

“Not to burst your bubble but I’m pretty sure that’s Canis Minor.” Kate spoke in a dubious tone, dark eyes flickering over the black.

“Nerd.” Clint muttered under his breath.

“Then where’s Cancer?” Natasha said.

“I don’t know I’m not an astronomer.” Katie laughed, earning an awkward elbow in the side from Clint.

Skye sighed to herself, captivated. She may not be able to make out her constellation, but she could still marvel at the stars.

There was reason little Cory Sutter had chosen the name Skye, but it wasn’t because she loved the stars, though that was true enough. She’d chosen it because of a bird. There’d always been an incredible mass of pigeons cooing and fluttering about; she’d see them outside her window at the orphanage, on the way to school, in the park, they were completely ordinary, there was nothing special about them at all. Except, they were everything she wanted to be; they could extend their wings and disappear into the blue. They were grey, beady-eyed, and completely unremarkable, pottering across the asphalt, picking at scraps. But, when they flew… when they flew they were the most beautiful thing Skye had ever seen. Wings balanced against the wind, free to go wherever they wished.

Skye thought she could never be a star; shining, beautiful from birth to death, completely mysterious, a light in the darkness. But, a pigeon, that small, occasionally beautiful, scavenger… that she could be. That was attainable, and she didn’t mind that nearly at all.

“Aren’t you kids freezing?” Their father’s voice reached them from where he was stood leaning out the back door, watching his children laid out in a line, legs splayed out, gazing upward, near the back boundary of the dark yard.

“Nope.” Katie sat up, looking over toward Phil.

“Kind of.” Clint contradicted her, flexing his cold-bitten toes where they were encased in his shoes.

“I made cocoa but there’s only enough for three.” Phil’s tone was flat, and they couldn’t see his face to know if he was lying, though it was quite apparent he was. It was obviously a ruse to get them inside, but, like always, they played along.

There was a moment of complete stillness, and then a sudden uncoordinated scramble, sneakers kicking up grass and earth in the rush. The older children played it up more for Skye’s benefit. The little girl sped with all her might toward Phil, her siblings hot on her heals. Clint pretended to fall over on his way to the door, yelping convincingly, giving Skye the upper hand. When she reached the back enterance she leapt at Phil.

“Someone’s eager.” He grinned down at the little girl, catching her under arms and placing her carefully back down on the solid ground. “You know, you’re pretty fast.”

“You left us in the dust, Scrappy.” Katie supplied, dusting loose earth off Clint’s upper arm.

“Does that mean I get the Cocoa?”

“For that sheer display of determination I, for one, think you should get all the Cocoa.” Phil admitted.

Skye’s eyes widened.

“One cup.” May’s voice echoed with finality from the kitchen, gaining the attention of the gathering huddled at the back door.

Phil shrugged, “Or that.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not tired.” Skye insisted as her eyes drooped, cuddled up into May’s side.

“You’re not, huh?” The woman said, amused and completely unconvinced.

“Not tired.” Skye mumbled, her head slowly sliding down Melinda’s ribs as she dropped off.

A small, empty cup, complete with sparse dregs, was sat on the coffee table.

“Liar.” Katie muttered, smiling into her own mug.

Natasha had retired, dragging Clint with her, a few minutes before, whilst Phil busied himself stacking up the dishwasher for the night. The clink of glasses catching each other was one of the few sounds that reached them as Melinda, Kate, and Skye dozed, curled up in the lounge. Muffled, short snores emanated from Lucky where he was curled up on the carpet.

“Come on, Skye. Zǒu ba. Shàng chuáng le.” May reached out to gather the little girl into her arms. _‘Let’s go. Time for bed.’_

Skye was past protesting. The little girl fitted in her embrace like she’d been born into them, like she’d been born to be held by Melinda May. Warm, little hands tapping against her back as she held Skye to her, chest to chest. Skye’s nose nudged Melinda’s neck as she slumbered at the woman’s shoulder. Skye was perhaps a year or two too old to be carried, but she was tiny for her age, even at just past eight years the girl still only just about reached Melinda’s elbow. She shuddered to think what years of blatant neglect, underfeeding, and lack of sleep might have done to Skye’s development. It was by some pure miracle that Skye didn’t seem to be behind in her mental maturity, but they still had yet to send her to school. May banished the thought, she didn’t have to worry about that yet. Trust; that was the first and most important step, and she knew that Skye was very much beginning to trust her.

It was terrifying, raising a child who’d been hurt so many times. It broke her heart every time Skye got that wide-eyed look, shocked at mild kindness and respect for her boundaries. Children were precious, an adult or older child who’d been through what Skye’d been through might become volatile, anger constantly simmering under their skin, directed at whatever or whoever happened to be close enough to hurt, much like Clint had been when they’d first taken him in all those years ago. But Skye, she wasn’t angry at all, she just let herself hurt, and keep hurting, and kept it all inside, hiding it under little smiles and an incomprehensible strength. May couldn’t believe a child that had experienced such trauma could still have such determination burning in their eyes, but Skye did. Behind those wide, expectant, deep, brown eyes there was something even more beautiful; Hope.

“Say goodnight.” Melinda whispered to the girl. She hid the shudder in her breath, holding it all in, she was good at that too.

Skye shifted her head so it was tucked under May’s chin, cracking her eyes open to regard Kate.

“’Night, Katie.” Skye said, her tone groggy, heavy, almost too tired to try to find the words.

“Zuò gè hǎomèng, Mèi mei.” Katie responded softly. _‘Sweet dreams, little sister.’_

Skye smiled into May’s neck, her voice little more than a modulated hum, “Wǒ shì Mèi mei.” It was said to herself more than anyone else. _‘I’m a little sister.’_

She fell asleep with the same smile still on her face.

 

* * *

 

__please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_ _

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just keep i mind what May said about 'the calm before the storm'.


	7. Nest Of Vipers: Matthew 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for enduring the filler chapter! Heres something a little bit more substantial.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: CHILD ABUSE AND EXPLICIT LANGUAGE.

“Do they have to be here so early, can’t you stall them a little?” Coulson tried not to seem like he was complaining, and failed.

“Phil.” May growled, tugging a white shirt off its hanger with what was perhaps more force than necessary.

Her parents were due at 9 am the next morning, bright and early, and, unsurprisingly, Phil wasn’t keen on the idea. Not on a Saturday morning.

“I’m just… I mean, where are they even meant to sleep tomorrow night? This is a five bedroom house and the guest room is Skye’s now. I guess, maybe, Kate and Nat could bunk up, but Katie kicks…” Phil worried, sat on the edge of their bed in only his underwear, too distracted to get dressed.

May paused her hands where they were doing up her shirt buttons, and turned slowly to give him one of her knowing, expectant looks.

It took Phil a moment but he caught up, “No. No, definitely not.”

May sighed, “They already share a one-bedroom apartment, Phil.”

“Ok, but, that is…” The man kept shaking his head.

“I know, but you’re going to have to get over it at some point. Clint sneaks into her room in the night anyway. What? When they have kids of their own are you still going to have them in separate rooms?”

Phil went a little pale at the thought of loads of mini, hybrid versions of Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton running around his home, “I am _not_ old enough to be a grandfather.”

“The point is, it’s the best option.”

“Or… we put Clint on the couch… maybe even handcuff him to it.” Phil’s gaze was distant in his colluding, and at this point she knew he was messing with her.

May rolled her eyes, grabbing his pants from the closet and throwing them into him. “Get dressed, Grandpa.”

“Speaking of grandpas…” Phil began, tugging on his pants, “you think William and Skye are going to hit it off?”

May smiled to herself, “Yes.” She said simply. Her father was everything that Skye admired; loyal, respectful, kind, attentive, forgiving. There was no way she wouldn’t love him. And, Skye, well… Skye was everything that her father had been proud of in Melinda when she was young; her strength, her determination, her unbridled curiosity.

Phil groaned as he rolled his left shoulder, the abiding ache there giving him grief.

“You okay?” May asked as she closed the closet door, shutting it with a click.

“Pulled it a few days back teaching those damn actors how to execute a proper left cross, wasn’t playing up till now. I’ve got their last session today. Remind me never to take up drama consultancy ever again.” Coulson grimaced as he shrugged on his shirt.

“Not going to happen.” Melinda’s smile was wiry, teasing, “It’s good money.”

Phil chuckled, then winced as he moved his hand to do up his shirt.

May’s face fell, “Hey,” She came to stand close to him, warm hands sliding up his chest to rest either side of his neck, the muscles there just as strong as she remembered, “If it’s too much-”

“I’ll take a step back.” Phil interjected, a promise in his tone. He dipped his head down, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and pressed a meticulous kiss to the sensitive skin just below her ear. He groaned as he brought his gaze back up to meet hers. “Maybe I am getting old, you’ll still love me when I’m ancient and wrinkly, right?”

May narrowed her eyes at him, the promise of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Phil tilted his head at her, fingers ghosting over her black pants where they covered her hips, stroking the waistband that was pinching her in with the pad of his thumb, “You know, you barely look more than a few years older than you did when we met, it’s quite intimidating actually.”

“What exactly do you want, Director?” May pretended to be exasperated, and she did it convincingly, but the bright glint in her eyes was a sure giveaway.

“Dad! Am I allowed to fry the last of the bacon?” Clint interrupted the moment with his loud and distant inquiry, his words travelling up from all the way downstairs in the kitchen.

“Some peace and quiet.” Phil sighed, answering his wife’s question.

“Well,” May patted his chest as she drew away, “just another reason to be nice to my parents. Maybe in a couple of months, when Skye’s more settled, she could go stay with them for a few days, and we could… take a break.” She suggested, heading toward the door.

“A break?” Coulson blocked her exit, an intensity in his eyes.

“Yeah, somewhere nice. Malaysia, Greece... Tahiti.”

Phil scrunched up his face in distaste, “Not Tahiti.”

“Why not?” May signalled for Phil to move with a couple of taps to his midsection, reaching for the door handle and turning.

Coulson held it open for her, grabbing his suit jacket off the hook attached to the back, “I read this article about biting turtles once.”

“Not good?” She assumed.

He closed the door behind himself. “Really not good.”

 

* * *

 

Skye felt dwarfed by Shield Arts Centre. It was an overwhelming expanse of grey stone and glistening, tinted glass. As she stood there a group of older kids emerged from inside, swarming, loud and boisterous. Skye stumbled backward, hitting something solid.

A large, warm, familiar hand rested atop her head, “It’s okay, Angel. You want to take my hand?” Phil offered. “I’ll give you a tour.”

Skye bit her lip, looking from the advancing flock of older children back to Phil. She nodded, quickly slipping her hand into his.

Behind them May grabbed a duffle from the trunk of the car and chucked it to Katie. The older girl was dressed in jeans and a purple hoodie, earphones in, looking sufficiently bored.

Natasha and Clint had bailed that morning to go spend the day with friends from high school they hadn’t seen in months, leaving Katie and Skye to be carted off to work with Phil and Melinda, given that their family leave was technically up. Though, truthfully, they were allowed to take as much time as they wanted as they were the owners, but Phil insisted on being as hands on and present as he could be, both of them still taught classes, and remained in the main centre for at least five hours every week day, visiting other installations when they could. And, though Phil wouldn’t admit it, he was kind of excited to introduce Skye to everyone.

The automatic doors slid apart as the family approached, revealing high, grey walls, and a deep purple carpet. Two sets of sofas, devoid of occupants, were huddled around a set of coffee tables about seven metres directly ahead. To Skye’s left was a small café, sparsely filled, only two people sat alone at the tables sipping coffee in their sportswear. A reception desk curved round at their right, gesturing down the hallway, and Phil led Skye toward it.

“Morning, Director, Mrs Coulson. Can’t even describe how pleased I am to see you back.” A stout, cheerful man greeted them from his seat behind the desk, a genuine smile on his lips.

“Billy, likewise.” Coulson couldn’t help but return the smile, amused at the man’s enthusiasm.

Katie pulled back her hood, a mischievous smile growing on her face, “Hey Koenig.”

The receptionist’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the girl, his smile dropping into an expression of suspicion, he turned to face his boss once again, “Sir, you might be interested to know we have now replaced the fire extinguishers that were…” The man’s eyes flickered over to sear into Katie, “…damaged.”

Skye watched the exchange with wide, interested eyes.

Coulson shot his older daughter a quick withering look, “Good. Is everyone in the breakroom?”

Koenig nodded, “As far as I know, Sir. And… uh…Wilson will be arriving around eleven, Sharon’s taking Antoine to her aunt’s today, but I assume you know that.”

Coulson shared a glance with May.

“I cleared it.” She reassured him.

Phil gently tugged on Skye’s hand, pulling her down the hall, leading her further and further past studios and ranges of all different types, walking in what seemed to be a wide circle. Eventually, they reached a door with the plaque ‘Staff: Authorised Access Only.’

Skye took a deep breath.

“Hey.” Melinda knelt down beside her, running her hands down Skye’s arms, “I promise you have nothing to be scared of.”

Skye nodded. In truth, she wasn’t scared, she was anxious, anxious for these people to like her, and that was normal whatever her past. She just wanted her time with the Coulsons to last as long as possible, and if their friends didn’t like her then… she probably wouldn’t be around that much longer. Skye knew how it worked, the foster kid, the adoptee, would always be second string. Phil and Melinda could replace her, these people, not so much.

A number of heads turned when the door creaked open.

The space was a fair size, easily three times as big as Skye’s bedroom, with a television set up, couches to sit on, a small fridge, and jumble of different coffee machines gathered on a counter in the left hand corner, next to a large, silver basin on one side, and a microwave on the other. The colour scheme was similar to the rest of the Centre; deep purple with a range of different grey tones.

A dark haired, pale woman and an olive-skinned beanpole of a man sat in chairs around a circular table in the center of the room, throwing down playing cards. A much larger, dark-skinned man in a grey muscle shirt was pacing up and down, a clipboard in his hand, pen at the ready. The last man was shorter than the latter mentioned, toward the back of the room, leant up against the wall, his hair short, stubble gathered about his jaw, spinning a soccer ball in his hands absentmindedly. His eyes were bloodshot, for what reason Skye couldn’t tell.

“Kit Kat!” The large man in the grey muscle shirt exclaimed warmly, advancing on Katie as she slipped past her mom into the room.

“What, you miss me or something, Mack?” The girl asked, gratefully accepting his all-encompassing bear hug.

“Only all the time.” The man chuckled, backing off, his gaze falling to where Skye was unconsciously trying to hide behind Phil and Melinda.

“Skye, this is our Weapons Maintenance expert, Alphonso Mackenzie.” Phil informed her, placing his hand between her shoulder blades to encourage her forward.

The man crouched, but he was still looming over her, “You can call me Mack.” He said, holding out his hand for a few seconds, waiting, before he realised Skye wasn’t going to take it, “Okay.” He muttered to himself, drawing back his hand.

“…you’re very big.” Skye said so softly and so bluntly, her gaze leaving him to look up at Melinda, fingers catching her sleeve, “Wǒ găndaò haìpà.” She added quietly, despite the fact everyone in the room could still easily hear, but not understand. _‘I’m scared.’_

May almost recoiled from the shock, not at the content, not at her meaning, because it was true, Mack was rather large, and it could and would be, even to many a grown adult, intimidating. It wasn’t that, it was that Skye was confiding in her, admitting to her emotions, choosing to do so in a language only she and Katie could understand. May fought the urge to scoop the girl up into her arms.

“Méiyǒu shénme kě dānxīn de, Máomao. Shénme dōu méiyǒu.” She reassured the little girl, tucking wisps of hair behind her ear affectionately. _‘There is nothing to worry about, Little One. Nothing at all’_

Skye couldn’t understand the whole thing, catching the first part only, and revelling in her favourite nickname, but the mere sound of May comforting her was enough to mellow her fear a small way.

Katie nudged Mack out the way and knelt in front of Skye, “Hái hǎo. Ta hen lihai.” Her eyes were completely sincere, hands reaching out to lead Skye away from Phil and Melinda. _‘It’s okay. He’s very cool.’_

“Hi.” Skye tried the word out, finding it easier to face Mack with Katie’s arm around her.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you Skye.” Mack offered.

One of the onlookers coughed, drawing attention to themselves.

“Sir, we actually got a little something for Skye.” The dark-haired woman stepped forward as Mack clambered up and backed off. She sent the men behind her an expectant look.

“Oh, right!” The man with the soccer ball jumped, dropping it, spinning round to throw open one of the cupboard doors behind him, his english accent evident in the hard 't'. He stuck his hands in and they emerged holding a brown, paper package.

Coulson broke out into a smile at his staff’s thoughtfulness, remembering the need to introduce the rest of them, “Skye, this is Isabelle Hartley, that’s Idaho,” Phil gestured to the lanky man behind the woman, “And that… graceless mess is Lance Hunter.” He pointed to the man approaching, package in hand.

“Just for the record, I resent that… Sir.” Hunter threw Coulson a proud look, and then crouched in front of Skye.

“This is… mine?” Skye looked to May for confirmation. She’d only ever been given small things on Christmas and on birthdays before.

Katie squeezed her shoulder, “Open it, Mèi mei.”

Skye dug her fingers under the flaps, ripping at the paper, and what emerged was better than anything she could have imagined.

“It might be a bit big.” Hartley warned, but Skye wasn’t listening. “Though, I guess that just leaves more room for growing, huh?”

Phil leant over his daughters to get a better look, then straightened back up to regard Hartley, “How did you even manage to get one in a child’s size? We never…”

“Twisted a few arms.” Idaho spoke up.

“After all,” Hunter smirked, “that is what you pay us for, Director.”

Skye ran her fingers over the dark grey t-shirt, the Shield Arts Logo, a silver eagle, a bird on the wind. She turned it over to take in the sight of the word ‘Instructor’ emblazoned across the back. Pressure began to build behind Skye’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but she thought she was probably going to anyway. This was a new feeling, being part of something, not just a family, but of something bigger.

“It’s perfect.” May confirmed, trying to keep her own face as straight as possible, overcome with affection for the people in their employ… their friends.

“Thank you.” Skye’s eyes were a little red when she finally tore them away from the garment in her hands.

“You are most certainly welcome, Sweetheart.” Hunter assured her, tossing the soccer ball between his fingers once more.

 

* * *

 

Skye pressed her fingers to the glass, tips turning white at the pressure. A tiny dent appeared between her brows as she watched swift fingers pluck arrows from the quiver, slipping them into place and sending them surely and soundly into the target, with a muffled ‘snap’.

“The archery range was always Katie and Clint’s favourite, Natasha prefers to shoot the handhelds.” Melinda gazed through the window, stood in the hallway alongside the transfixed eight year old.

“She’s so good.” Skye whispered.

“Practise.” May reached out to lightly grip the girl’s shoulder, guiding her away, “It really does make perfect… just look how far your mandarin has come so quickly.”

Skye blushed under the praise, eyes drawn to her sneakers as they walked. She had learned a lot from Melinda’s tireless teaching; she was attentive in her translating of the fairy tales Skye adored, and in making sure not to push the little girl too hard or for too long, always somehow knowing Skye’s limits. For the first time in Skye’s life she felt like she had some semblance of control; she was given choices rather than orders. When she got up she got to choose her breakfast, choose what clothes she wanted to wear, what she’d like to do that day, what she wanted for dinner, within reason of course. She didn’t always get her first choice, sometimes Phil and Melinda had to make the final decision, but that was part of the beauty of it. For the first time Skye wasn’t a pawn, she was part of the compromise, with her preferences taken into account. To begin with she’d been too unsure of voicing her own opinion, but now she could see. For so long she’d believed family to be a hierarchy, but it wasn’t, it was a team; pieces solving a puzzle, and, in a puzzle, every piece counts.

May stopped outside a set of double doors, behind them, through a long, thin window, Skye could see about 20 women ranging in age from about 24 to 40, skin of all colours and bodies of all shapes milling around, chatting, and stretching their limbs in preparation. Melinda May’s Friday morning Tai Chi class, made up primarily of yuppie mothers that were taking a short break from their duties. They were a nice enough bunch, and May had grown to know some of them fairly well, more than they knew about her. May had never been one to talk much about herself.

 But, her family was on everyone’s radar as soon as they stepped through any of Shield Arts Centre’s automatic doors. You’d have to be pig-eyed to dismiss the curious, blue eyed, Asian girl hitting the moving bullseyes with every shot. The twirling, graceful redhead, pale and as seemingly delicate as snow, taking down men twice her size in mixed martial arts with a flip of her wrist. The wide-eyed, freckled, blond, young man, a disconnected mess everywhere else but in the archery range, hitting center red from 30 feet away, face set in careless confidence. Her children were eye-catching. All of them. But, the tiny, doe-eyed girl at her side, who was trying so hard to hold her ground, to teach herself not to hide anymore, when the shadows had become her home, she had yet to realise she was beautiful.

“Okay.” May said, to herself more than Skye. “Let’s see.” She knelt down onto the rough, purple carpet. She fussed with Skye’s new t-shirt, the emblem on the front causing her heart to swell. The physical nature of actually seeing Skye connected now to this part of her life struck a chord in Melinda. “Piàoliàng.” The woman slowly smiled, gaze lifting from the silver eagle to reach Skye’s eyes. _‘Beautiful.’_

“Is it… is it the same one we do?” Skye inquired tentatively, cheeks tinged a sunset rose from the compliment. Talking about the routine.

“Mostly. Follow my lead, I’ll warn you if I’m going to change anything.”

The girl’s features betrayed her worries, faint lines marring her forehead.

“Nǐ néng bāngzhù wǒ ma?” May asked, Skye’s hands gravitated toward hers, sliding into place easily. _‘Can you help me?’_

For a moment Skye looked clueless, perhaps hesitant, and Melinda was led to wonder whether or not the child had understood.

In a voice stronger than May had expected Skye responded, that brave determination once again shining through the deep brown of her eyes, “Wǒxiǎngyào.” _‘I would like that.’_

May tapped the underside of the little girl’s chin affectionately, growing aware of the fact she was a minute or two later than she should be, as she stood once more.

Skye’s hand stayed in hers without encouragement, little appendages curling tighter in subconscious anxiety.

May pushed through the door first, but Skye forced herself to step into place beside the woman. Somewhere she could learn to belong.

“Morning.” May greeted the class, a polite smile growing on her lips. She was met by a jumbled chorus of similar greetings. Her hand released Skye’s so she could place it protectively on the little girl’s shoulder, “This is my youngest daughter, Skye. She’s going to be helping out today.”

Skye was caught off guard by the introduction, failing to respond in any way except to stare, and dismissing the final part almost completely. _‘My youngest daughter, Skye.’_ Those were four words she’d never thought she’d hear, but she was hearing them, and they were very much the truth, legally anyway.But still, Skye couldn’t begin to hope, not now, not now that she wanted it so badly, to let herself believe she could stay with the Coulsons forever, only to be taken away from them, it would break her.

“Skye, say hello.” May said in a travelling whisper, breaking Skye from her reverie.

The girl stumbled over her words a little, feeling put on the spot under the waiting gazes of the entire class, “Hello… uh… I’m Skye.” She tried, adding a smile she hoped was fairly convincing.

May couldn’t help but look a little proud, excited by Skye’s progress, taking in the girl’s appearance, her demeanour. Katie had braided her hair again, neat and tidy all bound up with tiny, red ties. Bottomless, brown eyes framed by dark lashes that fanned out in a way that made them look even bigger. Cheeks that even after so short a time looked fuller than they had when Skye’d entered their care, tinged with a healthy pink undertone. She’d chosen black leggings to wear today, with her plimsolls, her blue t-shirt replaced by the gift she’d received.

May wondered, with a shudder, whether Skye was self-conscious of the thin, white scars on her legs. Some might say that Skye was beautiful despite those scars, but to Melinda, they just made the little girl even more precious in her eyes. One day soon May would teach her to be proud of them, to be proud to be a survivor. That Skye should feel the same pride May felt when she looked at the little girl, when she stood in front of a mirror. 

As the class commenced, the feeling only grew, watching Skye create the forms with precision to match any in the room. Pressure and determination breeding perfection. Arms as soft a limber as Melinda’s, a resounding strength in the girl’s stance that was far beyond her young years.

“Skye, would you be my model for a moment, Máomao?” Melinda presented the girl with an opportunity, a stage, interested to see what she would do with it. Hoping it would only help improve her confidence.

After a second Skye nodded, moving briskly to the front of the studio to take her stance.

“Okay, see how Skye’s holding her hand here…” May pointed from one small, raised palm to the other, “…and here.”

There was a mix of nods, and the occasional, “Yeah,” from the women gathered in haphazard lines across the space. Scrutinising Skye.

The girl couldn’t help but squirm, breaking her concentration, arms becoming a little less controlled.

May noticed, knowing she had to calm Skye, quickly, “Màn yīdiǎn, Máomao.” She placed a warm palm to the little girl’s back, comforting her. _‘Slow down, Little One.’_

Skye’s actions leveled with the light touch, executing the perfect form with ease once again.

“Hǎojíle.” Melinda smiled. _‘Excellent.’_ The woman let her hand drop from Skye’s lower back as the girl broke formation. “Thank you.”

“Bu keqi.” Skye answered, respectfully nodding before she returned to her place at the side of the room. _‘You’re welcome.’_ Because, in this setting Melinda wasn’t just the woman who fed her and tucked her in at night, she was a teacher, and this was her classroom, and if one thing had been drilled into her at the orphanage it was that teachers were to respected above all else.

She remembered a quote, something she’d caught on TV perhaps, from when was very small. _‘Mother’s are the world’s most important teachers.’_ Skye wasn’t completely sure why the saying had brought itself to her attention in this moment, but she could guess. She was seeing exactly what Melinda could be to her, and it was terrifying to think that she was growing attached so quickly.

 

* * *

 

Skye wasn’t so much bored as curious, drawing away from where May was preoccupied making small talk with her clients, humbly but proudly accepting the occasional comments about her ‘well mannered’ daughter, her ‘adorable’ daughter.

The girl let her feet carry her a while down the hall, not so far that she couldn’t see and hear Melinda, but just so she could peer in through the window of one of the studios with padded floors and walls. The whole room was covered in deep blue padding.

Skye squinted, making out a familiar shape. There were five men in the room. One man, in a shirt and tie, sat on a bench at the wall, a clipboard in his lap. The four others were gathered in the center, Phil had his back to her but she knew it was him. He’d changed from his suit into something easier to move around it; an ‘Instructor’ t-shirt like hers, a pair of loose, black pants, wearing nothing on his feet but white socks. The three others were stood with him in what resembled a circle, similarly dressed, just talking. Phil was conversing and pointing at the man opposite enthusiastically, and as he did so the man with the clipboard advanced, coming to a halt a few meters from the group.

All of a sudden, without a cry or a telling motion of any kind, the two men closest to Phil grabbed his arms, locking him in place. Horror stuck Skye into silence. The third man threw himself at Phil, yelling, bringing his knee up into the other man’s midsection again, and again, and again…

_‘You.’ Mr Evans snarled, grabbing Tom by the scruff of his neck, and chucking him against the wall._

_The boy whimpered, his eyes blurred by tears, swollen with them, nose running._

_‘You think you can steal from me?’ The man gritted his teeth, pulling up the boy’s shirt to reveal the pale expanse of his stomach._

_Skye covered her ears but she couldn’t not hear, hidden under the kitchen table, not daring to run, too scared almost too even breathe._

_‘I’m… I didn’t.’ The kid hiccupped, a nasally sob escaping._

_‘Don’t lie to me you little Bastard.’ Mr Evans pressed his forearm against Tom’s chest, holding him to the scuffed paint, fingers grasping the boy’s skin in a firm pinch, twisting slowly._

_Tom cried out, a long, heart-breaking sound. And it happened again, and again…_

_Skye stuffed her fingers into her ears as far as they could go but it wasn’t enough._

“No!” Skye screamed, crumbling, falling to the ground, hands clutching at her ears as if to tear them off, “Leave him alone! Leave him alone! Leave him alone!” She was curled up into a ball, completely consumed by the memory.

Someone touched her and she screamed, throwing out a hand to ward off the intruder, and finding something completely solid.

Phil refused to be beaten, “Hey. Hey.” He gathered her into his arms even as she fought him, not recognising him as anything other than a possible threat, “I’m okay. I’m here. It was just pretend, Skye. I promise, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He held her against his chest with one arm, raising his other hand to brush back loose strands of hair, drawing the backs of two fingers down her cheek gently even as she continued to weakly struggle and whimper.

Melinda was at his side, ready to take over at a moment’s notice, but he signalled his intention to make it right, alone.

“I’m so sorry.” Coulson’s voice was low and broken. He was sorry; sorry he was holding her to him against her will, sorry he hadn’t considered how seeing that might distress her beforehand, sorry he hadn’t been there to protect her from the beginning. If they’d just gotten to her sooner… “Please, open your eyes.” He ran a careful thumb over them, banishing the tears collected there.

Skye cracked them open to take in the state of Phil’s face, filled with pain and worry, but otherwise unmarred. The little girl lightly touched his rough chin with her fingers, then pulled away. Sliding out of his grasp.

Phil didn’t stop her this time, but his heart began to ache a fair bit more.

The Skye reached out to him again as he sat, knees tucked underneath him, in front of her. She gently tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it upward to reveal his stomach, splaying one little hand across it. Flat, pale, unmarked, no red welts to suggest he’d been hurt. It wasn’t real.

“It was just pretend.” Phil repeated under his breath.

Skye crawled into his lap, tucking her head into his shoulder before she broke down again, sobs muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

Phil held her close, gathering her into his arms like a baby, “It’s not real, Angel. Not anymore.”

 

* * *

 

“Is she sleeping?” Phil looked up. He’d had his head in his hands for the past ten minutes since May had removed Skye from his grasp.

Melinda nodded, sitting down stiffly beside her husband on the couch. “We can’t overlook this, Phil.”

“I know,” Coulson breathed out, eyes downcast, “I’ll call Dr Garner in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

__please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_ _

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to stick a little note in to say a huge thank you to anyone who speaks mandarin fluently thats given me some tips. Quite obviously, it is not my first language, it's not even my second or third language, it's my fifth and I'm very inexperienced, so THANK YOU. I need all the help I can get in that area but I think it's a part of Skye and May's relationship I really want to include so... Thanks for helping me to make that possible.


	8. Labour Of Love: Thessalonians 1:2

 

 

_A lullaby… a hymn… she couldn’t quite make out the nature of the music, but it was slow, and it caught somewhere deep inside, a harsh finger stroking the strings of her heart like those of a harp. She was outside, wandering alone down a woodland path, trunks looming, the shadows of leaves cast on the ground. Where were Phil and Melinda? She was alone, again; no one to care that she was out in the night all alone._

_A roof came into view, and as Skye continued to move she saw the orphanage. St Agnes; grey brick gathered under a grey roof, a peeling black, lacquered door, a faux gold knocker in the shape of a lamb’s head. The lights were out. Step after continuous step, the music grew more prominent, the nuns were singing, but no light came from the chapel’s windows._

_Skye reached the chapel door. She wasn’t meant to enter the building except on Sundays. Was it Sunday? She didn’t know. The old oak door creaked on its ancient cast iron hinges. A Ribbon of moonlight unfolding on the floor, and Skye stepped into it, tentatively going inside. The music was all around her. Solemn, soft, sweet, ghostly voices, echoing off the cold stones and dented, wooden pews._

 

 

_“From all ill dreams defend our eyes,_

_from nightly fears and fantasies;”_

_Skye took a few steps toward the alter, bathed in the dim, fragmented, colour-corrupted moonlight that filtered through the stained glass._

_“Tread under foot our ghostly foe,_

_that no pollution we may know.”_

_The alter was bare, completely bare, like Skye had never seen it before. No cloth, no chalice, no bible, just a slab of pale stone._

_“O Father, that we ask be done,_

_through Jesus Christ thine only Son,”_

_Without the mere tap of a foot against the paving or the slamming of a door a force pushed her from behind. She slammed against the freezing floor, hands hitting first before her head could crack against the stone._

_She wanted to scream, but the sound didn’t come. She couldn’t get up, a pressure against her lower back was holding her down. A large hand wrapped itself around her upper leg, and she knew what was about to happen. Skye brought her cheek down to press into the grimy slabs, face scrunched up, teeth clenched so she wouldn’t bite her tongue._

_“Who, with the Holy Ghost and thee,_

_dost live and reign eternally.”_

_The sound of it sailing through the air was a whistle, a noise she’d tried so hard to forget. Sharp, insistent, searing pain like a thin, angry burn. Blood running hot down the sides of her legs. A sharp, short cry of shocking pain. Thin and helpless; a child’s cry._

_Skye cracked open her eyes despite the pain, whimpering, fingers digging into the floor, dirt collecting under her nails._

_Out the corner of her eye._

_Eyes that were looking but not seeing. Laid out above her, head peering over the edge of the alter, so close she could almost reach up and touch his cheek. Tom. No... No!_

_She screamed._

She didn’t wake up screaming, she didn’t really wake up at all. Skye kicked the sheets off her body, the thin layer of sweat on her skin growing cold as the air touched it. Wet, matted tendrils plastered to her forehead and the nape of her neck. Eyes squeezed shut. She flailed. Half-awake she wriggled onto her front, kicking the bedpost with force. The jolt woke her further and she curled up, knees tucked underneath her, she bent over them, pressing her forehead to the sheet. Her pillow had fallen to the floor, and her sheets were joining them all but for one corner of the duvet that remained at the very end of the mattress. Skye breathed rapidly, intermittent, choked sobs muffled by the undersheet, hands intertwined behind her head so tightly her knuckles were white. To protect or in prayer.

“Skye?” A concerned voice asked, not quite reaching the little girl.

She stayed where she was and began to mutter to herself, sobs interrupting.

“Skye.” May breathed, hurriedly falling to her knees beside the bed, “Máomao, look at me, please.”

Skye continued to shake. May raised a hand to the girl’s back feeling the damp nature of her shirt, noting the tremors. There was more muttering, and May listened closer this time. Skye was praying. She was murmuring the Hail Mary repeatedly under her breath.

The woman waited until the sound subsided, running a soothing hand up and down Skye’s spine as she perched on the mattress. Eventually Skye was exhausted from the effort of crying and slumped, allowing May to gather the child up into her arms.

“Zěnme la?” Melinda said quietly as Skye tucked herself underneath the woman’s chin. _‘What’s wrong?’_

Skye shook her head weakly.

“You can tell me… you know that?” Melinda reassured the little girl, holding her close in the dark. She ran her hand down Skye’s shins to grip the coolness of her small feet. She needed to get her back to bed but she didn’t want to leave her alone, not like this.

“I…” Skye shuddered, teeth gritted, “…don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” May conceded, knowing that Skye would confide in her when they were both ready.

Deciding that she couldn’t leave Skye to go back to sleep like this May picked the limp child up, comforted herself by the weight, and moved over to the closet. She reached into the hanging slots and pulled free a set of fresh pyjamas. Skye was too tired to dress herself, so May helped, guiding Skye’s limbs through the correct holes.

Skye gripped May’s arm and leant against her as she was led down the hall, stumbling on feeble legs. When they came to Melinda and Phil’s room Skye stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” Melinda frowned down at her.

“I…” Skye had never been in Phil and Melinda’s room before. Mr and Mrs Evans hadn’t allowed the children in their room. _‘This isn’t them though.’_ Skye reminded herself. Within the week or so Skye had been with the Coulsons it felt like her whole life had changed. She felt like she belonged, and the more she knew she shouldn’t get attached, the more her heart tethered itself to her new family. And somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, she could feel hope building; a hope that she was finally where she belonged, that they wanted her forever, and she could almost begin to believe it. She might believe it, if she could understand why on earth a family as incredible as the Coulsons would want _her_? However, right now, she couldn’t begin to care about ‘why?’ and ‘how?’, she just wanted to cuddle up with her would-be parents and wait out the nightmares.

“I’m fine.” Skye decided.

“What’s going on?” Phil murmured groggily, feeling the bed dip as his wife and Skye joined him.

“Skye had a nightmare.” May explained simply, letting Skye slip in-between herself and Phil. It was a big enough bed to easily fit three, especially when one person was decidedly tiny.

Coulson hummed as he shifted in the sheets, facing Skye as she laid her small head down opposite his, “No monsters here. Not in my house.” The man promised, still half-asleep, and chuckled lightly to himself, before sighing, his features going slack with sleep once more.

Skye giggled despite herself, needing to laugh. She held out a hand, fingertips delicately tracing Phil’s rough cheek, “Night.” She whispered it like a blessing.

The movement of Melinda’s warm chest against her back began to lull Skye, and the girl’s fingers fell from Phil’s jaw.

“Night.” Skye said again, this time to May.

“Ān rán wú yang, Máomao.” Melinda brushed her knuckles along Skye’s cheekbone, softly drawing stray wisps of hair out of the child’s face. _‘Safe and sound, Little One.’_ She pressed a careful ghost of a kiss to Skye’s temple. Testing the waters. This was the first time she'd ever kissed her smallest child.

Then it began, that hum and mutter, so soft it was barely there, the song May had sung to Skye while she’d bathed her that first day. It drove away all memory of the deadly hymn that plagued her nightmares.

_“Shi shang zhi you ma ma hao_

_you ma de hai zi xiang ge bao._

_tou jin ma ma de huai bao_

_xin fu xiang bu liao.”_

The difference was, unlike that first day, Skye recognised some of the words. One lyric caught in her mind: _‘Jump into mommy's heart and you’ll have endless happiness.’_ More beautiful in it’s native language than it could ever be when translated _._ May was singing to her about mothers. Skye could have picked apart what that meant for hours, but weariness took over, a single, fat tear creeping out the corner of her eye as her lids fluttered shut.

 

* * *

 

 

“Clint, go put a shirt on.” May sighed as her eldest wandered into the kitchen, looking so totally lost it was as if he’d never even seen the room before. His blond hair was sticking out at all angles and he was dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans.

“I’m waiting for the clothes thingy to finish.” He motioned the circular movement of the dryer with his hand, “Is that fresh coffee?” The boy sped over to the counter, the dark liquid was steaming in its pot.

“Your Grandparents are going to be here in less than an hour, can’t you just wear another shirt?” Phil said from where he was stood filling up the basin to wash a couple of pans, swiftly slapping Clint’s hand away from the coffee, “Don’t, it’s still brewing.”

“Aww.” Clint pouted.

“Not likely,” Natasha laughed into her cereal, “I think he only brought about two.”

“I brought three, actually!” Clint attempted to defend himself, gazing defiantly at his girlfriend.

Natasha simply stared back, head tilted, eyebrow raised, conveying to him that he was totally and completely proving her point.

“Okay, everyone’s ready!” Katie announced, herding Skye into the room, before catching sight of her brother at which point she back-pedalled, “Correction: Everyone but Clint is ready, as per usual.”

Clint sent her a quick glare as he sat roughly down beside Natasha at the kitchen table.

Skye tried not skip over to the window seat, feeling completely elated, having woken up safe and sound in Melinda’s arms, just as promised, and then been bundled away by Katie to get ready. She climbed up onto the cushions to peer out the front windows. She was nervous, sure, but if these people had raised Melinda then they had to be pretty awesome.

Kate had braided her hair again, and while the little girl could swear Katie did it more for her own benefit Skye wasn’t complaining at all. This time though it was in one loose plait following the line of her spine. Skye had elected to wear the playsuit she’d loved since her very first day with the Coulsons, when Melinda and Phil had taken her out and let her choose whatever she wanted. The colourful swallows dancing across the pale fabric were very fitting, perfect for a girl named ‘Skye’.

“Skye, sit up please.” Phil ordered, a smile gracing his face, watching his strange little family gather around their table. He placed a piping hot bowl of scrambled eggs in the center and went back round the island to collect the bacon.

“Can I get the coffee now?” Clint tried not to sound like he was pleading.

“Just go.” May shook her head at his antics, serving Skye up a portion of eggs.

Soon everyone was sat in their seats. Clint was busy shovelling bacon into his mouth, and Kate was busy watching him.

“How are you even finding time to breathe right now?” She teased in a travelling whisper.

Natasha bit her lip and concentrated on her food, whereas Skye didn’t even try to hide her amused little giggle.

“Shut up.” Clint said, a full mouth suppressing the words, eyes narrowing at Katie.

“Clint.” May looked up from her tea to warn the young man.

Clint looked scandalised by the fact he was the one being targeted, “Wha..? She… she just-”

May finished him with a glare so harsh he almost flinched.

By the time a rap sounded against the front door Clint Barton was in fact fully dressed and somewhat presentable; wearing the ‘Sharpshooter 1992’ t-shirt he’d been waiting for, his hair forcibly flattened by a determined Russian.

Skye got caught at the back during all the hustle and bustle. Two people she knew on sight only from photographs crossing the threshold with overnight bags in hand. A small, dark-haired, well-presented woman emerged first, closely followed by a wiry, tall, elderly man, with lines all over his face and smile on his lips. He embraced Melinda.

“Nǐ hǎo, Bàba.” May said, rising into her father’s arms, given she was a fair might smaller, “How was your trip?”

“Fair. Very fair.” The man smiled, shrugging off his coat, deep, joyous crevices appearing around his mouth. The mark of a man who made such an expression regularly. “I do enjoy the scenery of a plane ride.”

Lian May huffed, “William, you could see nothing but the clouds.”

William May chuckled, “Which are very fair, would you not agree, Lian?”

The comment earned a begrudging smile from his wife.

“Now,” William gestured widely, the bags he was carrying falling from his fingertips, “How is my ever-growing flock of grandchildren?” The man gestured for Katie, who was closest, to grab his hand. She did, and he pulled her into him with a spin, earning a quick laugh. However, even as William held Katie his eyes strayed to the small girl who’d ducked behind Phil upon their arrival.

“Lian, can I take your jacket?” Phil offered, leaving Skye behind as he moved to enact his intentions.

Lain May shrugged off the garment so her son-in-law could receive it, interrupting him as he tried to place it over the bannister of the stairs, “Phillip, surely you should put it on a hanger and place it in the closet?” Lian’s expression gave nothing away.

“Of course, how silly of me.” Phil bit his tongue and replied graciously.

Completely oblivious to Phil and Lian, excited, but trying to tame it, William approached Skye with care, “Nǐ hǎo, Skye.” He began.

The girl gulped, steeling her nerves, “Nǐ hǎo.” She repeated back.

“Xiǎo péngyǒu, nǐ jǐ suì le?” He asked softly, crouching, interested to see Skye’s response. _‘How old are you, Little Friend?’_

The whole family held their breath.

Lian and William had known about Skye a while before she’d been adopted, or at least, they’d been anticipating the arrival of another grandchild. When Melinda had phoned them that evening to announce that they’d ‘found her’ the couple had decided almost immediately that it was only right to go visit and meet this new addition. The fact that the Ziyuan festival was around the same time was a happy and convenient coincidence. Simply put: Skye was the reason they had come.

Skye chewed her lip, meeting William’s gaze. “I don’t know what eight is?” She admitted quietly.

“Bā.” William told her, finding her immediately endearing. The little girl brushed a wisp of hair from her brow self-consciously under his scrutiny. Small for an eight year old, but with wide eyes that held so much experience, completely astute and aware. It did not do for so young a child to be so cautious. William saw one of two things when he looked at Skye; a girl he wanted to know better, and a girl whose childhood had been stolen.

 

* * *

 

 

“You getting the hang of it, Mèi mei?” Katie said, checking on her little sister, peering over the girl’s shoulder.

Skye’s face was set hard in an expression of fierce concentration. Little fingers fumbling.

Katie and Natasha were showing her how to make floating lanterns out of grease-proof paper and string. Natasha crafted the white blooms quickly and skilfully, folding and moulding with the ease of practised fingers. Katie probably would have been just as efficient is she’d actually been paying attention instead of playing games on her phone. Clint had abandoned the trio ten minutes earlier, claiming ‘naptime’, much to the girls obvious disbelief.

“I fold every other petal up?” Skye checked, hands hovering, waiting.

“Well remembered.” Natasha praised, holding up her own creation. “See how it makes them look like real petals.”

“How come these won’t get all soggy when we put them on the water?” Skye returned to the task, delicately peeling every second petal upward.

“That’s why we’re using dad’s baking paper, it doesn’t get wet.” Katie explained simply.

Skye huffed, not satisfied by the answer, brow furrowed, “But why?”

“It’s got special stuff on it that stops the water from sticking.” Kate tossed another completed lotus onto the small pile in the middle of the kitchen table just as Skye finished her first.

“Done!” The little girl announced with a grin. The flower was a tad wonky, but that quality only added to it’s charm.

“Ah, what are these beautiful blooms I see?” William entered the kitchen, wearing slippers on his feet and a warm smile on his face. “The lanterns are pretty too.”

His compliment earned a couple of short, amused groans from his granddaughters.

 

* * *

 

At exactly 2:20 that afternoon a series of short, precise thumps echoed softly through the house, emanating from the front door. Skye chewed her lip, wringing her hands, staring at the wood indecisively.

Phil was in his office with Melinda and her mother talking about adult stuff; Shield Arts stuff, Skye presumed. Clint and Natasha were nowhere to be seen, and Katie was lying on the Couch with her earphones in, feet propped up haphazardly, Lucky draped across her, jaw slack as she dozed. Skye didn’t want to disturb her, but she also really didn’t think she should be answering the door by herself.

She was sat on the bottom step of the stairs, deliberating, when the knocking came again.

“I’ll get it.” A voice, rough and soft, like worn parchment rustling and log fires crackling, assured her. She tensed when a similarly afflicted hand ghosted over the back of head, slipper adorned feet pattering down the stairs. It was just William. Her muscles went slack. 

Despite the man’s long frame, there was such an easy, gentle nature to him Skye found it hard to be afraid. While his wife did not fit the generic ‘grandma’ stereotype, William was very much that cookie-cutter grandpa. Wise, kind, sometimes silly.

Skye had never really thought about Grandparents except in passing, too caught up in thoughts of what it might be like to have parents. She’d wondered about her maternal grandparents once; had they supported her abandonment? Did they even know she existed? Were they dead? Skye had been nosing in Dani’s office one day, and found her own file. There had been a fuzzy CTV snap tucked in-between her birth certificate and her medical records. CTV from St. Agnes. Her mother had left her on the porch of the orphanage alone, hood up, face obscured. Everything about her abandonment had pointed toward her mother being a Chinese emigrant, the brand of the bag, the note written in mandarin, so maybe Skye’s biological family back in China had no idea her mother had given birth to and deserted a baby in the US.

And her father… she didn’t really know anything, except that he was probably American. When she’d been tiny everyone had thought she was Asian in ethnicity, completely and totally, it was written on her birth certificate. It took them until she was three to realise they’d called it wrong, and she was Eurasian. There were lots of gaps and mistakes on her birth certificate, but given the chaos at the hospital Dani had said it wasn’t unusual. Her birth certificate was practically bare, no mother, no father, no delivering doctor. There were no names on her certificate except that of Mary Sue Poots, a name the nuns had chosen in a hurry, the one she’d had to bear for a year or so until she’d been adopted by the Sutters, who’d given her the name ‘Cory’. Her name had been changed legally, but the reformed birth certificate hadn’t even been issued before they’d handed her back.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was Skye now and a piece of paper wasn’t enough to tell her otherwise. Maybe, if she was lucky, the Coulson’s would have enough time to change her name legally before she went back to St. Agnes. At least she could be Skye… even if she wasn’t Skye Coulson.

Skye looked up in time to see William pull the door wide open, revealing a familiar, gangly boy of Skye’s age, complete with his usual sparkling grin.

“Hey Mr. May!” Trip enthused.

“Ah, you want to come in young man?” William offered.

William had met Trip Wilson a handful of times throughout the boy’s life, picnics and barbecues mostly.

“Actually I was hoping Skye was around.” The kid fidgeted.

“Hi.” Skye spoke up, moving slowly and cautiously toward the door, hands in her pockets.

She met his eyes. Perhaps even darker than hers, a button nose, a wavering grin that, while a permanent fixture, seemed to lose its surety under her gaze, all collected under a too-large, red, bike helmet.

“Hey um … Jem, Leo and I were wondering whether you want to come out? We’re just… gonna ride our bikes.” Trip shrugged.

William looked down at Skye expectantly.

“Uh… I have to help Melinda… with some stuff, actually.” Skye blatantly lied, feeling awful as soon as the words tumbled from her lips.

“Oh, cool.” Trip nodded slowly, “I guess I’ll see you around?” He said it like a question.

“I guess. Bye Trip.” Skye stared at her feet, refusing to meet Trip’s eyes, or face William. She was so ashamed.

As soon as the door clicked shut Skye felt as though she might crumble. A hand warm against her shoulder guided her wordlessly toward the kitchen.

“Sit.” William ordered delicately, shoving her gently into a seat at the kitchen table. He drew out another chair and positioned himself opposite the girl. “You lied to that nice boy... Why?”

The girl raised her hand to rub her brow, obscuring her face in case she looked as ready to cry as she felt.

“I am not angry with you, not at all.” The man tilted his head at her, “I just don’t understand.”

Skye raised red-rimmed eyes, hands twisting in her lap, “I was embarrassed.” She admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t…” Skye trailed off.

“You can’t?” William prompted, watching the girl intently.

A single tear tumbled down Skye’d hot, pink cheek, “I want to, but I can’t. I don’t know how. Don’t even have a bike.”

William sighed. This was all because she couldn’t ride? Because she didn’t have a bike?

“Well then, we shall have to fix that.” The elderly man announced, tapping her knee short and quick before rising. He headed toward the closet, pulling forth his jacket from its depths. Skye watched as he strode back into the kitchen, tearing a piece of paper off the bottom of one of Phil’s printed recipes and grabbing a pen off the counter. He scrawled a note for his daughter.

“Come on. Gāi zǒu le.” William dropped the pen and it clattered against the stone surface. He made for the front door, glancing back expectantly. _‘Time to go.’_

“Zǒu?” Skye gripped her chair, _'Go?'_ Her fingernails bit into the wood. “Where are going?”

“To get you that bike.”

 

* * *

 

“How about the purple one? See, these are nice.” William suggested, flicking the tassels on the little bike he was closest to humorously.

Skye shrugged, refusing to comment. She didn’t want Mr May spending lots of money on her. He might be her grandfather, technically, for now, and really kind of awesome, but she knew this wasn’t permanent, she wouldn’t be able to keep the bike at St. Agnes or St. Lucia’s. There was no point, it was a waste of money.

“Skye, humour an old man. Which one do you like?” William knelt in front of her, eyes narrowing, the corner of his lips twitching in a way that reminded her of Melinda. That made her smile, breaking her capacity for obstinance a little way.

Skye’s gaze drifted over the stock, taking in the bright colours and patterns that littered the space. She even spotted a green bike that looked exactly like the one she’d seen Leo riding days ago stacked up with a couple of others toward the back wall. Maybe… maybe the next kid Melinda and Phil took in would like a bike, maybe she could make the Coulson’s keep it when she left.

“I like the blue one.” Skye looked to the bike directly to her left. A light blue from handle bars to spokes, black handles and peddles, a little, yellow, wire basket attached to the front.

“A good choice!” William appraised, “Matching helmet?”

Skye nodded, reluctant excitement building as the man tucked the little bike under his arm as best he could and grabbed a stripy, blue helmet from the shelf above.

The shop-assistant peered over the counter to smile down at her as she approached.

“What a wonderful choice. Is your grandpa treating you to a new bike?” The cheerful lady inquired, simultaneously entering something into her machine with a tireless index finger.

' _He’s not my grandpa.’_ Skye itched to say, except that was sort of a lie, wasn’t it? “Uh…”

“A late birthday present.” William saved her, heaving the bike higher in his arms. “Skye’s birthday was the 2nd of last month.”

Skye was a little touched, and a little confused, that he knew her birthday.

“Oh, and how old are you now, Sweetie?” The assistant took the helmet from William, running it past the beeping monitor.

“Eight.” Skye replied with a small smile. She was surprised with how comfortably it came. She was out with a man she’d met only that morning, and, yes, he was technically her grandfather, but still, and she was chatting with a stranger, a nice stranger, but still a stranger, and yet… she didn’t feel terror, not at all. She was a little nervous, a little excited, and, perhaps, a little home sick. She wanted to get back to Melinda and Phil.

Home. Melinda and Phil. Skye’s face fell. She’d begun to think of them as home. Not just their house, but them. It was... perfect and terrifying and everything in-between, and she’d tried so hard but she just couldn’t help but want it. She’d been adopted and had her heart broken before. The woman who'd sung her lullabies had handed her back with pretty words still on her tongue. The man who'd taught her to walk had led her back to that black, lacquered, front door. People left; that was life, and little Cory Sutter had learned that the hard way. ‘Forever Families’ was a term she’d heard used often, but they didn’t exist. No family was forever. How could they be? Nothing was.

“Oh, I promise you, eight is when all the good stuff happens.” The woman winked, holding out the bill to William. “Have a great day!”

“You too.” William nodded, tucking the bill into his pocket and gathering the bike under his arm. “Skye. Gēn wǒ lái.” He beckoned for her, holding out the helmet for her to take. _‘Follow me.’_

She hurried to his side, tailing him until they were out on the wide pavement that preceded the front of the store. The street was sparse for a Saturday afternoon, but still a fair few people were busy wandering seemingly purposefully, doing a little window shopping. There was a bus stop a little while up the road, and a couple older ladies sat chatting. The barbers across the street was full with men getting their Saturday shave. A mother plowed up the hill pushing a pram, a father behind her struggling with a restless two-year old. 

“Here. Let’s see how it fits!” William knelt, taking the headwear from her, making to place it over her braids.

Skye jolted, shying away so quickly she fell to the ground with a yelp. Her breathing growing heavy.

“Hey. Hey, Skye. Are you okay?” William fell to his knees, but he seemed to know better than to touch her.

She bolted down her emotions, actively focusing on her breathing. She tried to be rational. She knew, deep down, that William was not a threat to her.

“I’m so sorry.” The look on the man’s face was painfully apologetic. “Do you want me to call your Mom?”

Skye knew William meant Melinda, and so began shaking her head rapidly. Melinda was doing important stuff right now, Skye didn’t want to be a nuisance.

“I’m good. Can I have the helmet… please?” Skye decided, a short burst of bravery shooting through her veins, twisting its way into her heart. She’d wanted this for a long, long time, there was no way she was going to pass this opportunity up.

William looked on quizzically as the little girl strapped the helmet onto her head, fiddling for a few moments with the strap, the most determined expression he’d ever seen etched into her tight features. When she was sorted with that she strode purposefully over to bike, clambering on without even looking back at him, and took off, wheels spinning. She couldn’t go ‘too’ fast with the training wheels on, thankfully. Her hands gripped the handles till her knuckles were white. Sneakers pushing down on the pedals with more force that he would have though the girl was capable of. He watched, and kept watching, unexpected pride swelling in his chest.

At that moment a car swerved up to the asphalt and docked right by William. Skye continued on, her little legs pumping away, getting nowhere fast, but trying hard. May and Phil clambered out the vehicle. 

“Bàba!” Melinda scorned. “We warned you what Skye was like, I can’t believe you thought this was a good-” The woman stopped short, glancing about her father.

The terror on Phil face grew as he realised, as Melinda had, that William was, apparently, standing in front of them with no Skye in sight.

“Bàba,” Melinda began, teeth gritted, “Where’s Skye?”

A loud crash echoed from their left, metal clattering, a soft weight thumping as it hit the ground.

All three adult’s heads snapped round to examine the cause of the sound. What they found was a breathless little girl sprawled out beside a little, blue bike, held upward only by the training wheels attached the back. A small, metal wastebin had been toppled in the altercation, causing its contents to spill out.

That same girl, slightly bruised, slightly grazed, and slightly covered in rubbish, jumped up and pumped the air.

“I did it!” Skye whooped. Delighted when she turned around to find that May and Phil had been witnesses to the occasion. “Did you see that? I rode it, all by myself!”

William was laughing, clapping enthusiastically. Passer-by’s smiled at the scene and went back to their shopping with no real understanding of the weight of the occasion.

Melinda couldn’t help but worry though. She raced to Skye’s side, hands going to the girl’s cheeks.

“Nǐ shēntǐ háihǎo mǎ, Máomao?” May said hurriedly, pushing the bangs from Skye forehead, a little rough as she turned her face to get a good look at the small graze to Skye’s cheek. _‘Are you okay, Little One?’_

Skye grinned, it was genuine in a way that caused May’s heart to swell, “I rode.”

“Yes, you did.” Phil laughed off his nerves, falling into place beside Melinda, opposite Skye. "God did you scare us Skye." 

Their daughter regarded them with wide, proud, hopeful eyes. “I’m good. I promise.” Skye was a bit mussed up, even bleeding a little in places, but that wasn’t what she meant; she was practically glowing with joy.

“Oh, xièxie shàngdì!” Melinda rolled her eyes, grabbing Skye by the shoulders and tugging her in, clutching her close. _‘Thank god!’_ When she’d found that note, when she’d found out that her father had taken Skye to a public place, alone, when he had no real understanding of Skye’s triggers, she’d paled, dragging Phil to the car without a second thought. Now she was here, she was beginning to wonder, maybe they’d been wrapping Skye up in cotton wool a bit too much. They hadn't exactly been encouraging her to go out and play. What had obviously been a fairly traumatic event for Melinda and Phil had apparently done Skye some real good.

“I want to go again.” Skye was jittery at the mere idea of getting back on the bike, vibrating in May’s arms.

“First things first, we get you home and clean you up.” Melinda raised a brow, conveying that the suggestion was not up for negotiation.

 Skye pouted, but didn't push. “Then I can go out and play with Trip?”

Phil and Melinda shared a cautious glance. If Skye really wanted to go there was no way Phil was going to be able to say no to that face, and Melinda wasn’t sure she was going to be capable of it either, or that she would want to.

William was still chuckling as he picked up the bike, watching the little family, eyes shining.

“Let’s see to those scrapes first okay.” Melinda lifted herself up, feeling at home as soon as a familiar, small hand worked its way into hers. Skye leant into her, both hands clasping May's left one, her wounded cheek pressed up against Melinda's arm as if the woman's mere touch could heal it... heal anything.

 

* * *

 

__please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_ _

* * *

 

Also in honor of this chapter I'd really like for people (if they can) to donate to Project Cuddle; An organisation working for the safe and legal retraction of parental rights for parents and babies in the US so that they're not abandoned like Skye was. It's a great cause. You can donate HERE. 

 


	9. Faith Will Move Mountains: Matthew 21:21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been off the grid a bit lately but I hope this super long chapter makes up for it and also the little (hopefully nice) surprise I've put under the chapter.

The child had a stare to match her adoptive mother’s; solid and true, and full of a depth even with all his training he felt he could never truly understand. This was about as much as Doctor Andrew Garner had discovered in the ten minutes he’d been sat opposite her. She refused to give him any real answers, offering short explanations and small smiles.

“Skye, I want to help. You know that right?” The Doctor tried keeping his voice level. His eyes were true.

“Yes…” Skye’s eyes narrowed.

“Okay.” Andrew nodded slowly.

Skye just continued to observe her psychiatrist. A moment later her eyes flickered, like she’d made a decision, “You don’t sound like the other doctors.”

“I don’t?” Andrew raised an eyebrow. Okay… so they were talking about him, but at least they were talking. It wasn’t ideal but maybe if he played ball he could get under her skin, befriend her.

“You don’t sound sorry.” Skye continued, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

“Why would I sound sorry?” Andrew leant forward in his chair.

Skye was sat on her bed, legs crossed. Melinda and Phil had suggested it might be better to conduct the session somewhere Skye felt in control; somewhere that was her own. A big, unfamiliar psychiatrist’s office wasn’t going to help put her at ease. Andrew didn’t do house calls, but the Coulsons were friends… and he’d heard Clint was back from the City for a while.

What had been a doctor and patient relationship had grown into a strong friendship as the boy had grown up. Clint had shared things with him he’d only otherwise shared with his parents and Natasha. The boy may not be his patient anymore, but Andrew still cared about him.

Skye reminded Andrew of fifteen year old Clint in a few small ways; she was guarded, distrustful, but she was so very different too. It was an age thing usually. Andrew knew young children were primarily submissive, keeping their anger under the surface, eager to please, either that or they channeled that anger and distrust into destructive behaviour. It was an anger that tended to fester, growing and darkening as the years went by. They’d got to Clint just in time, and it had taken years for him to come to terms with it. The boy still struggled with the memories of his trauma, those that reared their ugly heads without warning.

Andrew was hoping they’d got to Skye early enough to protect her from that, but he wasn’t sure anyone could truly move past the kind of horrifying things Skye had been exposed to, not fully anyway.

“All the others did.” Skye shrugged, then froze, breathing out carefully. She pulled a slight face.

“Well… why didn’t you like that?”

“I don’t know.” Skye said truthfully. She just wasn’t sure, but it had always got on her nerves. “I guess… I didn’t want to be someone they felt sorry for.”

Andrew had the softest brown eyes Skye had ever seen. They were so open and warm it was hard not to want to tell him everything, but it was like she had a wire cage around her heart; little gaps to peek through but never a way to escape. A small, hungry yellow canary fluttering, trapped inside.

“Well no one feels sorry for you now. They just want to help you.” Andrew crossed his leg over and kept watching the little girl as she deliberated on his words. “They care about you Skye.”

She shot him a look then, one she couldn’t hide. Violent disbelief that caused Andrew to realise, Skye truly didn’t believe she was wanted. That was often the first step for many adoptive children, they had to realise they weren’t going to be given back… discarded. This was the key, Andrew could see that now. The Coulsons had to find a way to show Skye they wanted her for good, they needed a way to show her they had long term plans for her. Skye had abandonment issues, severe ones, she just needed a stable home. It was written all over her file, ‘In need of a stable home.’

 

* * *

 

“Skye, please don’t feed Lucky from the table.” Melinda warned good-naturedly without even looking up from her work. She was multi-tasking, sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table, facing the window; highlighting discrepancies in the spreadsheets she’d been faxed from Shield’s sub-centres with her right hand, and eating a bowl of cereal with her left.

The little girl quickly and reluctantly drew back the scrap of bacon from the dog’s patient, waiting maw. Skye shared a sheepish look with Phil where he was pottering around in kitchen area, running a hand towel over a newly washed frying pan. He gave her a fond look and tipped his head to his right, her left.

Skye glanced down at the bowel sat in the corner, “Can I put it in his bowl?”

May suppressed an exasperated smile and a sigh, “Sure.”

Both adults watched with anticipation in their eyes as Skye leapt from her chair with the squeal of it’s feet against the wooden paneling. Scuttling across the floor with a mound of golden fur, complete with a wagging tail, closely following at her heels.

Skye had come such a long way in so short a time. Every day she grew a little bit more confident, flinched away a little less. She'd had no nightmares last night. May had taken to checking up on her in the dead of night, like she had Clint when he’d first joined their family. More than anything, seeing Skye zoom around on her little, blue bike chasing her new friends, laughing, had forced Melinda to stop short. She’d been on her way to call Skye in for dinner but upon seeing that she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, to cause the end of something so beautiful.

_‘Phil.’ Her husband seemed not to hear her, the hiss of the stove and the hum of the cartoon on the TV covering up her harsh whisper. ‘Phil!’ She called with a bit more force._

_‘Huh?’ He spun, his hand still gripping a spoon dripping with tomato sauce._

_‘You have to see this.’ Melinda insisted, beckoning from the entrance to the foyer._

_The man put the heat on low and abandoned his station to follow his wife. He heard the girl before he saw her, the joyous yell followed by a differently toned burst of laughter. He strode over to the open front door._

_‘Skye, you’re going too fast!” Jemma warned, her own legs pumping erratically down on the peddles, she then stopped suddenly, pulling down on the brakes._

_The other girl just laughed again, continuing on as she had. Fitz shot off to tail Skye, his eyes glinting with determination._

_Trip came to halt in front on the little British brunette, a wide grin plastered on his features, ‘Come on Jem, I’ll race you.’_

_The four set off again, Skye taking the lead. For once she seemed in her element._

_‘Hold on.’ Phil moved quickly, swiping his phone off the counter and pulling up the video camera._

_Melinda seemed oblivious to his decision to document the occasion. They stood like that for minutes, completely enraptured, until Skye finally noticed them and cycled up to the front door to come in for dinner all by herself. She said goodbye to her friends cheerfully, tucking her helmet under her arm and skipping in to sit at the table._

 

* * *

 

 

Skye deliberated asking and not asking, not wanting to disturb Lian as she concentrated on pouring the dark cream liquid,“What’s that?”

“Sūyóu chá.” Lian didn’t seem bothered, simply giving the little girl a tiny, appreciative smile before going back to what she was doing.

“Tea?” Skye frowned. But what kind of tea? ‘Sūyóu’ wasn’t a word she’d come across before.

“Butter tea, for your Wàigōng.” Lian nodded to herself knowledgeably, continuing to watch the dregs drip from the tip of the red tea pot’s spout.

“Wàigōng?” Skye scrunched up her face, frustrated at her lack of understanding. Melinda always tried to use words they’d already read through together, but Lian was using a whole new set she’d never heard before.

“Your Grandpa, Máomao.” Melinda stroked a hand over the back of the girl’s head as she passed behind her to collect something out of the fridge.

“Do you want to try a bit?” Lian suggested, offering the girl a teaspoon of the Butter tea.

Skye paused for a moment, then went for it, leaving the spoon clean. She screwed up her features. It was slightly salty, she hadn’t be expecting that. Skye relaxed as the buttery, creamy taste of it came through, Lian watching every twitch of her face analytically. The girl nodded at the older woman with a grateful hum to signal that she kind of liked it, earning a wider smiled than Skye had seen from the woman before.

“Zǎoshàng hǎo!” William announced with arms wide open as he entered the kitchen. _‘Good morning!’_

“Speak of the devil.” Melinda huffed, smiling at her father as he took a seat at the table.

“I see my three eldest grandchildren have yet to be roused.” William observed with a wiry smile, reaching across the table top for a bowl and the cereal.

Skye scuttled over, slipping onto the seat at his right hand. She didn’t think she’d warmed up to anyone as quickly in her entire life, then again, if it hadn’t been for William she might never have gone out to ride bikes with Trip, Jemma and Leo.

 “Zǎo, bǎo bèi.” William greeted her, eyes twinkling. He drew his gaze away to focus on pouring the milk on his cereal. _‘Morning, treasure.’_

“Zǎo.” Skye said back, almost bouncing in her seat, excited for the events of the day. It was the 7th, the first day of the festival, and as much as Skye loved the Coulson’s house she was itching to get out and run around.

“Skye…” May began, watching the girl jitter out the corner of her eye, “You’re wearing a hole in my furniture.”

The girl tensed, trying to contain herself.

“Tell you what,” Phil came over, collecting dirtied cutlery and crockery off the breakfast table, “The sooner the others are ready the sooner we can go, so why don’t you go wake them up?”

Skye’s eyes glinted and again she was off, soft thumps emanating from the stairs as she trotted speedily up them.

“Phillip.” Lian side-eyed her son-in-law critically as she placed a small bowl of butter tea next to her husband.

“Getting Skye to do your dirty work.” Melinda continued her mother’s sentiment with a judgmental tone.

“It’s efficient,” Phil defended himself nonchalantly, tucking a clean pan back in it’s draw as he spoke with a clatter, standing straight and turning back to face his wife and in-laws as he continued factually, “they can’t be grumpy with her she’s too adorable.”

“The man has a point. I've seen Katie in the morning enough times.” William shuddered for effect.

“Baba.” May threw her gaze up to heaven at her father’s comment. It was true enough though… Katie took forever to gather herself in the mornings and when she did finally make it down for breakfast it was often with a sour face.

 

* * *

 

“Katie…” A finger prodded her shoulder lightly.

The older girls eyes fluttered, a soft groan escaping her parted lips, she buried her face further into the pillow. She pulled in the faint scent of lavender detergent and sighed, forcing herself to face the little intruder.

“What?” Kate breathed, unimpressed with the sudden awakening.

“Qi chuang le. It’s festival day.” Skye said insistently, her nose barely an inch from the tip of Katie’s own. _‘Wake up.’_

The girl’s voice was quivering with such excitement Katie couldn’t bring herself to ignore her, “Okay, Mèimèi. I’m getting up.” Katie blinked tightly, banishing sleep.

The smooth pad of a small thumb gingerly brushed the skin under her eye. Kate tensed, her eyes flying open to meet Skye’s deep brown gaze. The little girl knelt at her bedside.

“You… had an eyelash.” The girl shrugged, picking herself up off the carpet and running back out the bedroom door before Katie could respond.

 

* * *

 

Phil offered her a hand as she clambered from the car and for the first time ever she didn’t second guess herself as she took it, hopping from the vehicle was so much fervor she almost tripped over her own feet.

While the drive to Tidal Basin was only an hour long it had taken a good couple of hours for Clint to get himself up and sort himself out, during which time Skye had watched at least three episodes of ‘The Adventures of Captain America’.

“Carefully, Máomao!” May called after her as she sped off to join William, Katie and Lian where they were clambering out a different car.

It was only once she reached them that her attention was drawn to the beautiful white building visible through the trees. She couldn’t see it very well, and so she set off sprinting again, picking up dust, almost slamming into the barrier at the water’s edge.

Melinda froze up in response, all she could see was Skye getting hurt; falling and scraping herself, tumbling over the barrier, or some other scenario that was as equally indigestible.

“Skye!” May yelled.

Skye looked back, fingers gripping the cool metallic bar as tight as she could, eyes wide.

“Pfft, Mellie you worry too much let the girl run.” William waved away what he considered to be his daughter’s unnecessary concern.

Phil slipped his hand inside his wife’s, warm and solid, he murmured, “Mel, she’s fine.”

She knew Skye was fine… now. That wasn’t what May had concerns about. This was Skye’s first real day out with them, she was stretching her newfound free limbs, and while that was inspiring to witness Melinda had reservations. If something happened it might shatter Skye’s confidence, and that was what May was terrified of more than anything. There was no real knowing what could set the girl off. Her file talked of the triggers they’d identified; everything from loud noises to blonde men, sometimes even her own blood, but then it mentioned that she was unpredictable. They'd seen that already in her warmth toward Clint despite what it said in her file. Usually after the lanterns they’d go home and set off some fireworks, Melinda had crossed that off the list this year, but she couldn't protect the child from everything.

Taking Skye’s hand she felt like she was picking up a time bomb. She felt guilty describing her that way. Skye was a child… her child, none of it was her fault, but, nonetheless, she was unstable. May didn’t care about the screaming and the looks she would get if Skye had a panic attack in public, but the pain in Skye’s eyes, that had the potential to destroy her.

“It’s so incredible.” The little girl clasped Melinda’s fingers with her own, the reflection of the water glittering in her pupils.

“Can you say that in Mandarin?” May narrowed her eyes at Skye warmly, legitimately wondering if the girl had been paying close enough attention to the story she’d read her last night.

Skye looked akin to a rabbit in the headlights for a short moment before her brow set itself in a focused fashion, “…Zhēnshá… no wait… Zhēnshì nányǐ zhìxìn?”

May stroked her hand over the silky hair at the back of Skye’s head. It wasn’t plaited today, Katie had been too groggy to concentrate on anything less than falling asleep in her cereal, but sections on either side had been pulled back and collected by Natasha into a half up, half down arrangement to stop them hiding her face. Her bangs only reached her eyebrows so her face was kept primarily unobstructed.

“Perfect.” Melinda told her. Her pronunciation had gone a bit flat in the middle but May wasn’t going to bother telling her that, she’d get the hang of it in time. Considering she’d been learning less than a month her progress was outstanding. It wasn’t worth picking things apart.

May had begun to notice that about Skye, her ability to pick things up quickly. She was observant, picking up patterns in things where no one else could see them. No normal child would continue to teach themselves a complicated foreign language for weeks without help, but this little girl, she connected the dots, matching up letters and tones like she’d born to it. Which she had… supposedly. It was one of the ways Skye calmed herself, reassured herself that she was in control, sitting at the table organising the pens by colour, then size, then shape, rather than drawing with them. May liked to tell herself that it was just a fluke of birth, not something caused by experience, but on some level she was aware that Skye’s outlook had been shaped by the trauma she’d been put through. Skye picked things up quickly out of necessity; she’d taught herself to tie her own shoelaces, to bathe and clothe herself, to live with very little help from a young age. It was a maturity born out of neglect.

“Hey, Skye! Race you to the peddle boats.” Clint shouted, already starting at a brisk jog.

A couple of little blue boats bobbed far out into the reservoir and Skye had been watching hopefully. Wet, colbalt surfaces glinting in the midday sun.

Skye set off after him. Lucky wasn’t far behind, quickly picking up speed, panting. Out the corner of her eye May saw her older daughter’s exchange a look, make a silent decision, and take off after them. There was something both beautiful and terrifying in watching her four children sprint in keen anticipation down toward the boathouse.

Melinda contained the compulsion to yell for them to be careful.

Two familiar arms wrapped around her waist from behind, a chin bumping against the crown of her head. She relaxed into him, “I’m not sure about this, Phil.”

“They’ll be fine, and Skye can swim, remember.” Phil offered, rather indelicately.

“Don’t.” Melinda said shortly, the image of Skye flailing about in the sound was the last thing she needed right now.

“Relax. Your parents are going for a walk, the kids are going on the water… what do you say we set up this bad boy and relive our youth?” Phil suggested lightheartedly, holding up a folded, green picnic blanket for inspection.

Melinda leant away from him, still contained in his arms but just enough so she could look up into his face with a suggestive criticism.

He caught on quickly, “I didn’t mean it like that.” Phil insisted innocently, “I meant our childless, peaceful youth.”

She pulled away, turning to face him with palms pressed strategically against his chest, “Peaceful?”

Phil brought his hands to her waist, sliding them around to press against her lower back, bringing her slowly closer, “In-between all the chaos.” He decided.

They’d travelled the world together.

Events in Milan, meetings in Tokyo, getting into scuffles with trained fighters was always a bad idea, not that he did it deliberately. Getting drunk and ending up on her couch in a hotel room at three in the morning was an equally bad decision he had inadvertently made more than once. He’d been 23 and falling in love with a girl who was so totally focused on her career, but that was one of the reasons he’d liked her so much. Rome, Italy, 4th of March 1987, he knew down to the second when it was exactly he’d started falling in love with her. He’d made her laugh, for the first time it was deep, belly-aching, tears streaming, beautiful laughter, and that had been that. There had always been the potential, he’d thought she was beautiful, smart, and totally capable of kicking his ass, which he liked in a woman. For three years she’d been a possibility, a hopefully, a one day maybe. A friend. His best friend. She’d never shown any particular preference for him in that way… he was just the admin guy after all, hardly remarkable, unlike her, and totally capable of being overlooked.

11th of March 1987, that was the day she’d pushed up against a wall and quelled all his doubts. He wanted to spend the rest of his life in that moment, kissing her… so he married her. Seven years later after asking five different times. He’d tried being romantic, going big, surprising her. The fifth and final time he’d rolled over in the middle of the night, eyes bleary. The moonlight hitting her sleeping face, he’d muttered, _‘Just marry me already._ ’ To which he hadn’t been expecting an answer. Then she’d sighed soft and long, moving closer to him under the sheets, tucking her head into the soft flannel at his chest, _‘Fine... go back to sleep.’_

 A squeal from the water’s edge brought them back to the present. Melinda turned to see Clint sans shoes and socks holding a wriggling Skye in a fireman’s carry as he strolled through the shallows.

“I like this chaos more.” May admitted. Lips at her neck told her he agreed, gentle as always, paired with the feel of that fine, rough stubble at his jaw.

Phil followed that ragtag party of four as they made their way to the pier, splashing up water and running circles round each other, “No regrets.” He nodded. He felt the fabric of the picnic blanket being tugged from his grasp.

Melinda backed away from him, her gaze moving over his form analytically, the blanket hanging loosely at her side. The background of the sparse trees and sparkling lake contrasting with the clean, bright white of her t-shirt.

She kept moving backward even as he advanced, a teasing glint in her eye, which was fine, because Phil knew he had… and would follow this woman anywhere.

 

* * *

 

“My own Wàigōng had a little boat on the river…” William told his tiny audience from his camper’s chair with a nostalgic edge to his tone so affectionate it captured Skye’s little heart completely. Beating true and in time with the tale, completely enveloped. Stories of vibrant landscapes and colourful people. “He had a little white house over the low river, with a balcony made of wood. It was so rickety my mother would never let me play there but I used to sneak onto it and hang my legs through the gaps,” William chuckled to himself, “watching the fishing boats pass under my feet. There was a mill across the water and I would sit and watch the wheel turn.”

Skye’s eyes were bright, enraptured. She was leant back against Melinda’s chest, opposite the man, sat in the gap between the woman’s legs. May used one arm to prop them both up, and the other to fix Skye’s collar absentmindedly, stoking the girl’s hair out the way as she did so. After all, it was a story she’d heard many times.

“Did you grow up there?” Skye blinked but kept her eyes on the old man.

Lian May was settled on an identical chair beside her husband, eyes closed, soaking in the familiar sound of his voice as the light grew dimmer.

“In Ziyuan?” William shook his head lightly, “No, I was raised in Wuhan. We had an apartment on the lake at Jiangxia, but I would always go to my Wàigōng in the summer. I still have that little boat you know, all cooped up in a locker. Once I sailed her all the way down the Yangtze River into Shanghai, the second most faithful companion I have ever had.” The man shot his wife a fond look she couldn’t see.

If Lian hadn’t her eyes shut she might have rolled them, “You make it sound like a person, William.”

“She may not be living, but The Guangxi Qing has a soul.” William said with playful wisdom, only half joking. The man grew tense suddenly, though his jaw went slack and his eyes became distant, an expression of realisation, “Qing.” He smiled softly.

Skye furrowed her brow at the man, waiting for him to explain himself.

“Baba?” May inquired, briefly worried.

The man looked enlightened, “Her name; the blue sky of Guangxi.” William grinned down at Skye, “Now I have two little blue skies.”

Have you ever felt it, that feeling of outright entirety? Of belonging. To be consumed by adoration and know it to be reciprocated. For once Skye let herself believe, feeling May’s arms lean around her, that she was wanted.

“Hey! We’re ready!” Clint called up the bank, waving his arms overhead excitedly.

It was dark overhead now, small, unclear pinpricks of white splattered across the deep blue. It was dark but not yet black, perfect for lighting lanterns.

This time instead of running off Skye stayed still a moment, not keen to leave the warmth of Melinda’s arms. It was only when the woman began to move that Skye shifted, lifting herself back onto her feet. She held onto the edge of May’s shirt as she half walked, half tumbled down the slope.

Her feet still bare from earlier Skye brought herself to the reservoir’s shore, feeling the cool water nudge at the tips of her toes. The girl closed her eyes and this time the hymn that came to her promised not night terrors, it was a lullaby that had been sung in the orphanage nursery when she was tiny, held in the arms of a kind Sister, slowly and affectionately being rocked into a peaceful sleep, with no knowledge of the horrors she would one day face.

She heard that lone nun sing, soft a sweet, words she sung to all the babies in her care.

_‘When you walk through the waters I'll be with you,_

_You will never have to sink beneath the waves.’_

Skye sighed out, moving further out till the water lapped at her ankles, the smell of the evening air fresh and cool, earthy and uncorrupted. Wet mud working its way in-between her flexing toes.

_‘When the fear of loneliness is looming,_

_Then remember I am at your side.’_

A warm hand on her shoulder, a flickering orange glow present on the backs of her eyelids. She opened them to receive the lantern, the slightly crooked creation of her own hands, cream and bright with the tealight tucked inside it’s waxy petals. Skye wasn’t sure who’d presented her with the flower, and at this point it mattered little. Skye waded out, further and further, until the water casted a cold chill on the backs of her knees. Finally she leant down, placing the first bright lotus carefully atop the still blue.

_‘Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you.’_

So many years later Skye still didn’t truly understand those words, but she connected with them. Sister Mary had told her that to be redeemed meant to be forgiven or blessed… and it’s true, Skye still felt that she needed to apologise, she just didn’t know who to; to Tom? To God? To herself?

“Skye! Máomao, you’re going to get a cold.” May’s voice was more distant than she’d expected. It was that which compelled Skye to head back, jogging through the water, worrying little about the splashes that collected in damp patches at the hem of her skirt.

_I have called you by your name; You are mine._

The sweet, luminous blooms looked more like stars on the fluctuating, velvety blue canvas than they did in the polluted east coast sky.

Phil crouched at her left, almost automatically Skye rested her palm on the shoulder of his jacket. The backs of Melinda’s fingers ghosted over the top of the girl’s right arm so without looking Skye clocked the movement and knew exactly where to find Melinda’s hand with her own.

“Zhēnshì nányǐ zhìxìn.” Skye repeated those new, wonderful words quietly, wet eyes glistening as the little lights drifted further and further out. _‘It’s incredible.’_ The only other light was the white beams bouncing off the vast, intricate memorial situated across the water. This was everything she was. Melinda had explained to her the significance of floating the lanterns into the tidal basin, the legacy of her grandparents dipping and rising in the water before an American monument.

That was what Skye was too, both Chinese and American, a part of this. But, more specifically, he wanted to be part of this family, and technically she was… but all that history… William’s stories, while beautiful, had forced her to realise that she didn’t have that. Clint and Natasha had history from before they’d even met Phil and Melinda, before they’d rediscovered each other. Katie had a huge, interconnected set of picture frames hanging above her bed, of family, of friends, even Lucky had a frame to himself, but Skye wasn’t there. And Phil and Melinda, they had history like she’d never seen, and it wasn’t just hanging on their walls, it was written in their eyes; confirmed by conversations formed in the merest flicker of a glance.

It took time to build history, and Skye wasn’t sure how much of it she had. It was then for the first time Skye let herself consider it; the possibility of staying forever, letting her mind run wild on ideas of everything from Christmas mornings to college graduations… to be able to introduce Melinda and Phil to people as her family, her parents. It hurt, but it was the kind of throbbing pain that bothered a healing wound, like her heart was finally scarring over.

 _‘Noli timere.’_ The nuns would sing at Sunday mass.

 _‘Méiyǒu shénme kě dānxīn de, Máomao.’_ Melinda would slowly crouch before her with kind hands and a warm gaze.

 And the lullaby from her infancy, _‘Do not be afraid.’_

Her whole life people had been telling her not to be scared.

Bravery did not leave the body void of fear, she knew that better than most. Tears fell, and her bottom lip always seemed to tremble as she fought off her demons. She was afraid, and she knew if she lost them she always would be… and she didn’t want to be that scared little girl, not anymore. 

 

* * *

 

If you like this there's a good chance you'll like this AU thing I made for May/Coulson + Skye (Daisy)

(note: these won't open in a separate tab you'll be redirected!)

[Extended Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_50996Hn8Y&feature=youtu.be)

[Original Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nbnyk7iBQ58)

 

 

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__please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_ _

* * *

 

 


	10. The Powers That Be: Romans 13:11

 

Growing up Melinda had everything she could need. Her parents made sure she was safe, and fed, and warm. She’d never questioned that they’d loved her, even though those words were so rarely said.

One of the strangest things that had happened to Melinda growing up was when she’d visited her friend Helen’s house, Pennsylvania when she was seven years old. Helen’s mother had just been popping out to the mall, leaving the girls with Helen’s dad, and so the woman had strolled into her daughter’s bedroom and planted a kiss on the little girl’s head.

_‘I’ll see you in a bit. Love you.’_

_‘Love you, Mommy.’_

Melinda had frowned at the scene in front of her. Open displays of affection just… didn’t happen in her home. Kisses were rare, and ‘I love you’s were considered awkward. The closest she’d got was her Baba setting her on his knee and telling her she was such a good kid, or her Mama tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear and sticking her impressive report card on the fridge with a proud smile.

Her mother had been the insistent, almost suffocating type, she’d pushed Melinda, been so aggressively attentive it was often frustrating. Every endeavour accomplished by Melinda was met with constructive criticism rather than praise. She hadn’t recognised it at the time but that was how Lian May would show her affection.

Melinda had come to appreciate it. It was just how they were, and there had never been a moment, even for a second, where she had doubted their devotion.

Both Lian and William had worked tirelessly for her, valuing being able to physically provide for her over everything, sacrificing time with her for work in order to give her whatever she needed. They’d been almost distant sometimes, so much so she would almost forget to thank them, to acknowledge their part in providing her with a future; money to travel, sponsors, silent support.

Melinda could recall her first couple of years away from home, when she’d started traveling without them. The short but often phone calls from her mother, reminding her to come home when she could; enticing her daughter back to her with promises of beautiful home cooked meals.

 _‘Your father misses you.’_ Lian would say. While Melinda was sure that statement was the truth, she also knew that those words held a hidden meaning … _‘I miss you.’_

May had always planned to be a mother like her own Mama, with a few little tweaks; firm but fair, attentive from a respectful distance, harsh but not cold. Loving in an indirect way. But having a child like Skye… that changed everything. She couldn’t just be the parent she wanted to be, she had to be the parent Skye needed, and that was where Melinda doubted herself.

“What’s obvious is that Skye has reservations, she doesn’t truly believe this arrangement, this family, to be permanent. She’s protecting herself. I think if you’re going to progress with her you need to show her where she stands in your long term plans.” Andrew explained, gesturing with his hands as he talked through his assessment of their little girl.

He was sat in his chair on the opposite side of his desk. It had made more sense for them to visit Dr Garner’s office on the way home from work rather than having him talk to them after one of Skye’s sessions. They didn’t want to risk her over-hearing, it would be likely to only further her discomfort.

Phil nodded along to Andrew’s words.

“Talk about plans for next year, joke about the future, little things, make it feel natural. You just need to show her she’s a permanent fixture in your lives. You two are central to this, it’s you who have to power to send her back to foster care. You need to be spending as much time with her as possible. Taking her to the centre with you, working on her fears, letting her get to know your friends, your employees, showing her that she’s a part of that side, of all sides, of your world.”

 There was heavy pause in which the couple soaked in everything they’d just been told.

“And Melinda.” Andrew looked to her.

Her eyes flicked upward to lock on his.

“I know that you’re aware Skye had problems with physical proximity, but I believe she has no particular qualms about being close to you. You can use that.” Andrew looked down at his hands, thinking, he looked back up with a more solemn gaze. “Skye has horrors in her past, experiences that have damaged her perception of physical interaction. I think it’s important you try to build on that history with new and positive experiences, otherwise it could continue to affect her, and at the moment you’re really the only one who can give her that.”

“Not Clint or the girls?” Phil inquired. He was fully aware that while Skye didn’t really mind taking his hand if it was offered and that sort of thing, she would still find it somewhat disturbing is he were to swoop in and pick her up without permission. He understood, she had be the instigator, and he didn’t want to push.

“I know that Skye’s started to build good relationships’ with her siblings, but I’m not sure she’s ready for that type of interaction just yet.”

“Skye didn’t react badly to Clint?” It was a statement, and a question Melinda asked not only Andrew but herself. Something she considered almost daily. They’d been expecting Skye to almost avoid Clint completely, given his features, how he resembled a man who’d treated her so badly, but she’d warmed up to him almost as quickly as she had the girls.

“Skye’s perceptive… the reason she isn’t scared of him seems to be because she sees something familiar in him. She identifies with him.”

“Acknowledges him as someone with similar experiences.” Coulson appraised solemnly.

“I believe so.” Andrew concluded.

 

* * *

 

“It’s Tchaikovsky.” Natasha explained as her fingers slowed, finishing their quick, lively dance over the piano’s keys; eliciting corresponding notes that rang through the air.

The little girl nodded slowly, deciding to pretend like she knew what that meant. The piano had been something Skye had clocked her first day in the Coulson home, a polished, dark wood, upright piano sat against the far wall of the lounge. She wasn’t sure she’d ever touched a piano before.

“Hěn hǎo.” William praised absentmindedly from behind his paper. _‘Very good.’_ He was buried in an armchair with his slippered feet propped up on a cushioned footrest, his eyes trained on what was apparently a very interesting article.

Lian nodded slowly from her own seat in the corner of the couch where she was attacking the crossword puzzle William had abandoned, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“You want to try?” Natasha patted the empty space beside her on the two-person bench.

“I don’t know how.” Skye admitted, cautious but curious.

“I’ll show you something simple.” Natasha smiled slightly as Skye lifted herself up to sit alongside her. Taking the smaller hand in her own she laid it carefully over the white keys so Skye’s thumb rested on a C. “You know the alphabet, right?”

It was meant to be rhetorical but Skye took it seriously and became momentarily offended in an almost comical fashion, “I’m eight.” The little girl rebuked. “I’m not a baby.”

Natasha bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at Skye’s adorable frown, “Hey, I’m 22 and sometimes I forget the middle part.” She admitted.

“Really?” Skye’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“I’m Russian, I grew up with a whole other alphabet, okay?” Natasha defended herself, not able to stop herself from smiling this time. “Anyway, you know how the alphabet goes-”

“Eh, Bi, Si, Di…” The little girl trailed off, repeating the phonic pronunciations she’d learnt in school.

“Well with a Piano it goes- see where your thumb is? That’s C, it goes C, D, E, F, G, A, B, and then back to C again.”

Skye looked almost pained, “Why?”

Natasha opened her mouth to reply, became perplexed and closed it to think a moment, and opened it again, “I… uh, don’t know.”

The older girl racked her brain for a simple piece to teach Skye, and was lost. She attended the Kirov Ballet Academy. The music she was exposed to was mainly composed by Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Bach, or other musicians of that nature.

Maybe she should just start by teaching Skye the keys…

 

* * *

 

May’s keys clinked as she dropped them into the ornate ceramic bowl on the foyer bureau, running a hand through her hair, trying still to absorb what Andrew had explained to them. On one level it was things they’d already known, on another it was things they’d been afraid to acknowledge.

The sound of piano keys being played flowed throughout the bottom floor of their floor. The stilted and unsure nature of their presence puzzled both Phil and Melinda. The two shared a quick glance. Natasha’s execution of the instrument was rarely anything less than perfect.

As soon as the scene hit Melinda she softened, shoulders drooping in pure affection. A little girl, dark hair loose down her back, feet swinging just above the carpet, with her fingers stretched wide to cover the distance between the B and the E keys.

Her little girl. She was allowed to think that. Her daughter. Her child. Whichever way you cut it, it was true. Skye played a B and then an A and a B again. Melinda blinked and breathed as deeply and quietly as she could, banishing the tears threatening to betray her. Her baby. Melinda bit down on her tongue, finally realising.

It had happened when they were 36, after trying for a long, long while. May wasn’t one of those women that had ever particularly wanted to carry a child… per se, but she had known she wanted to be a mother, and that Phil would be an incredible father. He had been ecstatic when she’d told him, he’d begun silently orbiting her, seemingly ready to catch her if she fell, like she was tiny china doll; completely breakable. She’d believed she was unbreakable back then.

She’d been wrong. So suddenly, they’d lost it. They’d been so close to having that child, but it wasn’t meant to be. That’s what Phil had murmured into her hair as she’d tucked herself into his chest on the hospital bed. May didn’t believe in fate, at least she didn’t think she did. She didn’t believe that the future was decided. She wasn’t sure she believed she and Skye were ‘meant to be’, that implied that the suffering of Skye’s birth mother, that May’s own suffering, had been meant to be. Melinda couldn’t bring herself to believe that. What she and Skye had been was lucky. But... on some level, some part of her considered the hand of fate, simply because now she couldn’t even entertain the idea of her life not having had Skye in it.

They could have tried again, there was always a chance, but Melinda had already known she couldn’t chance going through it again. Besides, there were so many children already in the world that needed homes, and she and Phil, they could offer a good one. She’d never really had that baby fever anyway, whenever she’d imagined a child it had been a little girl around the age of seven, already old enough to run, to talk… to play piano. 

It had happened about 9 years ago. Her daughter would have been 8 now, just like Skye. Melinda used to spend hours torturing herself, piecing together a child in her mind. Trying to work out what they might have looked like. She’d be a little girl, and she’d look like Phil, his jaw and dimples, but with Melinda’s own colouring, the dark hair and eyes. Now when she closed her eyes and called up an image of her daughter all she saw was this… Skye sat with her back to her making her singularly determined way through a butchered rendition of Clair de Lune, white-socked feet swinging slightly to match the rhythm.

Melinda would never, ever forget who could have been her daughter, she thought about it often, but she knew, more than anything, that she wouldn’t change this. Shared blood meant nothing next to the quick, assured beating of her heart and the tears that blurred her eyes with a pride so deeply felt it almost nauseated her. That child had been nothing more than a something, a maybe someday someone, but Skye… she was living, and breathing, and laughing, and hurting, right in front of Melinda’s eyes.

May backed out of the room to give herself some space to breathe, to collect herself. She was glad to see Phil had disappeared upstairs so she wouldn’t have to explain herself. Sitting down heavily on the bottom step of the staircase and disappearing so deeply into her own thoughts, eyes closed, she didn’t see or hear the soft approach of small, white-socked feet.

A tear escaped despite her attempts to internalise, rolling over her cheekbone and down toward her     jaw. A small finger, gentle to the point of barely touching her skin, collected it tentatively.

Melinda’s eyes shot open, slightly bloodshot, to capture the sight of an enraptured, uneasy Skye stood close.

“Melinda… are you okay?” Skye managed to get out after a moment.

For a moment the woman was torn, she didn’t want to lie to Skye, so she told a half-truth, “I was thinking about something sad, Máomao. I’m okay.”

And there they waited, the situation apparently too tense, too heavy to say or do anything.

Skye broke first, watching the shifting sadness in Melinda’s eyes. Flying into the woman’s arms, desperate to provide some form of comfort.

Melinda held the little girl close, letting the emotions overwhelm her for once, burying her face in Skye’s hair. She smelled faintly like the lavender detergent Melinda used and grass-stains from playing outside. Any other time May would have chastised the girl.

“Shēng mǐ zhǔ chéng shú fàn.” She said it quietly to herself more than Skye, a reminder. _‘What’s done is done.’_ She wasn’t sure the girl could understand, and that was okay.

Their pasts were their pasts, nostalgia was something she had never put much weight on. She’d rather move forward, and now she had the best and most motivating reason to; the little girl in her arms.

“Méi shìr.” Skye tried, unsure, clutching the back of Melinda’s jacket. _‘It’s alright.’_

The woman sucked in a shaky breath. This little girl… this damaged, beautiful little girl, was trying to comfort _her_. The context for the phrase wasn’t exactly right, and usually it was repeated to make it seem more heartfelt… but right now Melinda didn’t care, it was heart-breaking anyway. There was something about Skye, something about her that had the power to break May’s heart over and over and over again.

 

* * *

 

Music seemed to be the theme of the day. Natasha’s piano playing had inspired Clint to dust off his guitar, primarily to annoy his sisters, after a while he settled down in the office chair in Katie’s room to strum away as she typed away on her laptop.

Skye wavered outside the room, not wanting to disturb, but kind of desperate to be part of it. Katie spotted her through the open door and waved her insistently inside, patting the space beside her on the bed not unlike Natasha had done earlier with the piano stool.

“What’s up?” Katie asked as Skye shuffled across the sheets to settle next to her, shoulder to shoulder.

“I’m bored.”

“I thought Lian was reading to you?” Katie’s eyes narrowed as she investigated.

Skye didn’t look up as she shrugged.

“Not as good as Mom, huh?”

Skye bit her lip, eyes a little wide as she looked up at the older girl, conveying to Kate that she’d hit the nail head on… she could relate, Lian was fair but as a teacher she wasn’t quite as patient as Melinda May.

“Wǒ hěn wúliáo.” Katie said, supposedly out of the blue.

The sudden switch in dialect threw Skye, she didn’t recognise the sentence hardly at all. She recognised ‘I’… maybe, Kate was speaking quite quickly, as always.

“I’m bored.” Katie translated as she smiled down, nudging Skye lightly with her shoulder, “Wǒ hěn wúliáo.”

“Wǒ hěn wúliáo.” Skye repeated back shakily.

“Nice.” Katie nodded her approval.

Clint hummed from his chair, and plucked the B-string of his instrument. He shut his eyes tight as though he were deeply emotional, filled his lungs, and sang with an extenuated, elongated sweetness for dramatic effect, “Wo hun woliao.”

Both Kate and Skye recoiled at the butchered pronunciation.

“No.” Skye said simply, her brow creased and lips thin.

“Clint, you’re making my ears bleed.” Kate pulled a face.

The boy shrugged and went back to picking at his guitar, his mouth closed this time.

Keen to mess with him a little further, Katie brought up the music folder on her laptop, and, in preparation turned the volume up to full.

She looked to Skye and the little girl nodded, whispering, even though Clint couldn’t understand, “Wǒ zhǔnbèi hǎo le.” With a small smirk. _‘I’m ready.’_

As soon as Katie hit the enter button Kris Kross’s ‘Jump’ blasted out, she’d connected the computer to two speakers sat on top of her cabinet. It was so loud and sudden that the room seemed to swell with the pressure of it.

Clint was taken by surprise, his knee coming up as he reacted instinctively. His guitar fell, hitting his foot in a way that shocked him more than pained him. He yelped, flailing, tumbling off the swivel chair to land on the floor, sprawled out on his front.

Katie burst out laughing as the music continued to blast out, pushing the laptop away, slipping it onto her nightstand.

Skye was rolling on the bed, shaking with giggles.

Katie picked herself up, balancing precariously on the springy mattress to stumble a step or two toward the end of the bed, continuing to laugh as she caught sight of Clint, still on the floor, trying to look disgruntled as he lay, now facing upward, propped up by his elbows. Even though he managed to maintain a sour expression his eyes glinted with humour.

Skye managed to calm herself down enough to crawl across the sheets, still snickering.

“Wǒ men shèng lì!” Katie yelled triumphantly over the music, bouncing on the balls of her feet. _‘We win!’_

“I don’t know what that means!” Clint called out, stressing the words in a whine from his spot on the floor.

Neither did Skye, but she went along with it, clambering up to join Katie, stood side by side on the bed. Katie grabbed Skye’s hand, the girls began to bounce, drawing joy from the insistent squeaking on the springs under their weight.

“Jump! Jump!” They yelled along to the song, eyes glinting.

Skye broke away, jumping as high as she could, reaching up her, fingertips lifted to try and brush the ceiling. Katie fell back, landing hard against the plush pillows, cheering Skye on.

Clint forgot his pride and knelt up on his knees, fingers curling round the frame at the base of the bed, peering up to grin as the little girl began to spin, giggling as she twisted round in the air, hair flying about her head, unruly and completely free.

Skye didn’t notice the forms appearing at the door, her fist pumping the air, bare feet hitting the feather duvet rhythmically. She didn’t hear Phil’s short chuckle, or the click of the camera as Natasha captured the moment. She was too busy being happy.

 

* * *

 

It would be an understatement to say Skye was nervous, this would be the first night she would have to try and fall asleep without the knowledge that Phil and Melinda were just down the landing if she needed them.

She’d heard May insist that it was too soon, but William had simply ushered them out the door.

Skye agreed, Phil and Melinda had been so good to her, they deserved to go out. And she trusted everyone in this house, even Lian, who scared her a bit sometimes.

It wasn’t that the woman was scary, exactly, it was more that she was stern. She reminded Skye of the older nuns, like the Reverend Mother, back at St. Agnes; set in their ways, disciplined, observant. Then there were brief moments, where she’d look at Skye and come close to a smile… her lips wouldn’t move, but something in her warm, unyielding eyes would promise a smile, one that rarely came.

“Skye, are you ready for bed now?” The woman’s voice emanated from the other side of the door.

“Yes.” The girl replied, moving quickly to tuck herself in, pulling the covers up to her chin. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to sleep, the events of the day were racing through her mind. She’d so desperately tried not to get attached to this family, and now she knew, if she hadn’t before, that she had failed.

Lian nudged the door open, peering inside to see Skye stark still, ridged under the blue duvet.

“Zěnme la?” The elderly woman entered to investigate, descending onto the seat Melinda had left the previous night, placed near the head of the bed. _‘What’s wrong?’_

“Nothing.” Skye lied. Her huge, brown eyes were wide and obvious, shining even in the dim light.

Lian’s own gaze narrowed. She had raised a little girl, and she could tell Skye was keeping something from her as easily as she had been able to tell when Melinda had lied to her.

“I’m… just thinking.” Skye answered the unspoken question, wriggling between the sheets to generate warmth and to direct her discomfort.

“About?” Lian prompted, a look of intensity trained on Skye.

“The future… and stuff.” The girl mumbled, breaking Lian’s gaze and letting her own fall in what seemed to be embarrassment.

Lian sighed deeply, “A dangerous pastime. You wonder if all this will end soon?” The woman didn’t seem sad, she didn’t try to comfort Skye with empty platitudes. She was very matter-of-fact.

As it turned out that was exactly what Skye had needed, and she found herself nodding.

“Qióng zé dú shàn qí shēn, dá zé jiān shàn tiān xià.” Lian said softly, melodically.

Skye was lost, the sounds swimming around her ears, she couldn’t quite capture them.

“You can’t stop birds from flying over your head, but you can keep them from making a nest in your hair.” Lian said wisely.

For once Skye was as lost in English as she was in Mandarin, and it must have shown in her eyes because Lian continued to explain.

“Once there was a hunter, he was a very great, very revered man who had killed many wild beasts.” Lian began, leaning forward slightly.

Skye shifted, she hadn’t been expecting a bedtime story. The girl pushed her covers down a little way so she could listen better.

“But he faced a great trial… he had no shoes. He would go hunting deep in the woods, and when the day was done, he would travel down a road with his haul. The road was long, and covered in sharp stones and thorned twigs that would cut into the hunter’s feet, causing him great pain.”

Skye winced, empathising, lips parted as she became engrossed.

Lian’s expression was one of fervour as she recalled the story her own Wàipo had relayed to her so very long ago. “When he reached his home his wife would tend to his wounds. She hated to see him in such a way, and so she suggested ‘Husband, why don’t we cover the path with furs?’ and he responded, ‘No, all that pelt would cost too much money. We are not rich.’ But soon he was stuck by an idea. The next morning he rose, thanked his wife, and strapped animal hides to his wounded feet. With those two scraps he walked on soft, furred ground for the rest of his days.”

As the story concluded Skye realised she still didn’t understand.

Lian smiled knowingly, “We cannot always choose the path we must take, the life we have, but you can either choose to face the future with your feet exposed, alone… or you can face it with the help of others and find that which softens the blows of those sharp stones. Family, virtue, respect. It may not be easy to find but it is worth the effort. One thing you cannot do is stop walking.”

“I get to choose.” Skye said softly, eyelids drooping. She felt assured in this new belief.

“You get to choose.” Lian confirmed.

They sat in quiet confidence a moment.

“Now. Nǐ kàn shàngqù hěn lèi. Shàng chuáng le.” Lian broke the silence with a more stern demand, patting Skye’s knee gently. _‘You look tired. Time for bed.’_

“Okay.” Skye yawned into her pillow.

Lian rose and made for the door.

“Uh…” Skye twisted with the last of her energy, sending the elderly woman a sleepy smile, “Thank you, I liked the story.”

Lian nodded formally, “Zhè shì wǒde róngxìng.” She responded, and ducked out the room, shutting the door with a muffled click. _‘It was my honour.’_

It didn’t take long for Skye to slip into sleep. That night she had only pleasant dreams.

 

* * *

 

Skye tugged her slippers on with a contended sigh, using the back of her hand to rub sleep from her eyes. Once her feet were snug and warm she lifted herself off her bed and began to shuffle downstairs. She tensed when she found the guǎn empty. Usually Melinda would already be up, stretching her limbs with the level sound of violins softly present. Skye checked the kitchen next, disappointed and slightly worried to find no sign of Phil, no eggshells left by the stove, no dirty pans left in the sink, no steaming plate of pancakes, or eggs, or bacon.

Shoulders drawn up, Skye plodded back out into the foyer, not sure what to do with herself. It was then that she could just make out muffled voices coming from the lounge. Curious, Skye followed the sound, peaking round the doorframe to look down the length of the room. At the far end there they were. Melinda was leant against the back of an armchair. Phil was balanced on the piano stool, a large picture frame held against his chest, mostly blocked from Skye’s view by his torso. They were both facing away from her, fixated on the bare patch of wall above the piano.

“Don’t you think it should be higher?” Phil said, his gaze still flickering over the flat section of wall.

May titled her head with a sigh, exasperated, “It looked fine.” She said it firmly, the tone of her voice harsh. She seemed to be commanding him more than reassuring him. They’d obviously been up a while. A hammer and pack of nails sat atop the piano. Skye soon realised that when she looked closer she could see one such nail protruded from the wall directly above the instrument.

Phil submitted, straightening up a bit to reach the nail, resting the latch on the back of the large frame over it. He leant back, half clambering, half tumbling, off the stool and back onto the carpet.

Skye could see the photo now. She felt her knees weaken a little way.

Phil’s hand on her shoulder, the other around Melinda. Clint and William at the sides, Natasha and Lian in front of them, Katie knelt down in front at Skye’s side. The backdrop was the Tidal Basin, the sun low in the sky. Their picnic blanket could be seen a fair few yards behind them if she looked for it.

She was… in the center… of a family photo. Her resulting stumble drew the attention of the two adults.

“Skye!” Phil exclaimed, his proud smile growing, “What do you think?” He gestured to the frame and then rested his hands on his hips.

Skye look another long look the picture, blinked, then looked back to Phil. She shot a quick glance at Melinda and saw a small smile playing on her lips. Skye took a deep breath and began to walk over, feet quickening as she drew closer, eventually she barrelled into Phil’s front, wrapping her arms tight around his midsection, her face tucked in against his ribs

“You like it, huh.” Phil seemed extremely chuffed with himself, risking an arm around Skye’s shoulders, he ran his other hand gently over her head. The little girl’s fingers tightened at his back, and for a brief moment he panicked, worried he’d overstepped, but them he realised she wasn’t moving away. She hadn’t been scared, she’d been holding him tighter.

Melinda was close now, and Skye stretched out her arm, holding on like a vice to the woman’s t-shirt.

Skye knew what she was choosing, and she wasn’t going to let go.

 

 

 

 

* * *

__please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_ _

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to the people who consistently comment on this work you should know whenever I get a notification saying you guys have reviewed I get so damn excited. Thank you for making this a joy to write.


	11. Root Of The Matter: Job 19:28

Trip concentrated hard as he pulled the elbow pads tight against her skin, doing up the Velcro with practised hands.

“Okay, not to tight, right?” He checked, knocking on her helmet affectionately with his knuckles, his grin widening.

“I’m so ready.” Skye assured him, rolling her shoulders and bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Trip had spent a good ten minutes checking her stance, and strapping her into his old elbow and knee pads. The blue bike helmet William May had bought her was secured onto her head.

“Chill, girl, I promise you _all_ of this’ll be worth it.” Trip held up his hands like he was surrendering, smiling still at her blatant impatience. “I guess you can get on now.”

Skye breathed out slowly, nodding.

“Remember you’re goofy footed so right foot first.” Trip laid the skateboard out on the grass and held out his arm for Skye to grasp as she stepped on. A rush of adrenaline shot through her veins as she felt the board respond to her weight.

“What now?” Skye looked at him, eyes glistening with anticipation.

“Just get a feel,” Trip half shrugged, careful to use only one shoulder and not the shoulder that was supporting her. Slowly, he pulled away his arm but kept hold of Skye’s hands, giving her a little more freedom, “Lean back. Move from side to side a bit, you just have to find your balance.”

This was the first day Trip had been at Shield Arts Centre. Usually when his parents came to work he stayed with his grandma at her Garden emporium earning some pocket money, or spent the day at Pepper and Tony’s, playing with Leo and Jemma. But, when he’d heard from his Mom that Skye had been spending her days at the Centre he’d jumped at the chance to kill a fair few hours of his Thursday with her.

It was Friday last week that Skye had seen Trip riding his skateboard, unable to keep her curiosity to herself she’d asked him a multitude of questions, all of which Trip had been all but delighted to answer. Now, here they were, out on the training fields behind the Centre holding hands as Skye leant tentatively backward.

“Shift your foot to the bolts, like, cover them with your foot.” Trip let go of her right hand so he could crouch and tap the part of the board he was referring to.

“Okay.” Skye breathed, shuffling her foot back a bit.

“I’m going to let go now, the grass will stop you from rolling… probably.”

“Okay.” Skye repeated.

Trip gently slipped his hands out of hers and stood back, watching as she found her balance, leaning back, arms outstretched a little way.

Trip began, “Um, Skye, you might want to-”

Before he could finish there was a high-pitched yelp as Skye tumbled backward onto the grass, landing on her padded elbows, the board flipping over as she did so.

Trip muffled a laugh, “-not bend your knees.” He bit his lip as he reached out to tug her up off the turf.

Skye dusted herself off, seemingly only mildly perturbed by the incident.

“Look,” Trip turned the board back over with his foot and hopped on, “You just kind of… shift your shoulders.” He demonstrated, making it look easy. “I’m just shifting my weight to the back.”

“Can I try again?” Skye asked eagerly, jittering with single-minded determination.

“Sure!” Trip leapt back off and this time Skye climbed aboard without assistance.

Jerky at first, unsure of herself, Skye forced herself to loosen up, shifting her weight around just has had been suggested. The board moved forward the tiniest bit, and, with a slight quiver of the knees, she managed to keep her balance. She considered that this was quite similar to Tai Chi… it was about balance, control. She had to consider the placement of every part of herself, how her center was weighted, and collect her thoughts in order to focus.

“Nice.” Trip appraised, giving her a proud thumbs up. “Do that a few more times and we move to the asphalt.”

 

* * *

 

Melinda rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, revelling in the feeling of the muscles loosening, and the familiar sound of the breakroom kettle hissing. She felt two warm hands appear on either shoulder, noting the familiar roughness of his fingertips against her exposed skin. He pressed his thumbs into the knots that had built up at the base of her neck. Sighing in response, a quiet indication of her gratitude. He was so close now that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades.

As May reached out across the counter before her to collect the boiled kettle and pour herself a cup of tea Phil slipped his hands around her waist to allow her arms their freedom, tracing the bottom of her ribcage through her t-shirt, he pressed his lips just below the fine hair at the base of her scalp, the tiny wisps that had escaped her ponytail soft and fine against the tip of his nose. He was keen to take advantage of these moments, it was rare that Melinda was cuddly, especially when they were at work… though she’d always been weak to resist him, but, of course, she’d never admit to that.

“What happened to no PDA in the breakroom?” Hunter’s voice disturbed nonchalantly, a teasing edge to his tone.

The couple had momentarily forgotten that Hunter was also present.

“As Director I decided to briefly lift that rule…” Phil said; he held his wife for one second longer, then he drew his arms from around her, “And now I’m putting back into place.” He announced as he stepped away from a smirking May, his hands up.

Hunter huffed with a form of fake disapproval, falling into one of the chairs at the table.

“Hunter, shouldn’t you be doing inventory?” Melinda said with a flat tone, sipping her tea as she leant back against the counter.

The man shrugged, picking a pen off the table in front of him a spinning it in-between his fingers absentmindedly, “Right. Yes, I will do that...” He breathed out heavily, putting the pen down, “…in 15 minutes…”

Both Coulson and May stared on with harsh expressions they usually only used when one of their children had done something particularly displeasing.

“…when I’ve had a sit down,” Hunter nodded slightly to himself, “there any of that tea left?” He shot May an expectant look.

Phil supressed a smile, badly, the corners of his mouth upturned as he advanced on his newest Instructor, “You think you could resort the Lost and Found too-”

“Boss.” Hunter groaned, grimacing at the thought of being elbow deep in abandoned smelly socks.

“-and remind me why I hired you.” Phil quirked an eyebrow in a way that suggested there was no way he would ever fire Hunter, but he would not hesitate to assign punishments. “Why did I hire you?” Coulson shook his head at himself.

Despite the jokes Phil was very much aware of how much Hunter brought to the Shield Team; he was a brilliant boxer, an expert marksman, and despite the sarcasm he was a truly good guy. More than that he was as loyal as a wolfhound, and smarter than he looked.

“Good references.” Melinda answered her husband’s rhetorical question.

“For which I thank Izzy every day.” Hunter announced, smiling smugly.

Isabelle Hartley had been working in Shield Arts for around 10 years, but Melinda had known her long before that. They’d met at a convention in Europe when Melinda was 26. Isabelle was on leave from the Armed Forces and Melinda was just beginning to consider exiting the Pro-Martial Arts arena. At that point Shield Arts had just been a maybe, a possibility Phil had dreamt up over dinner one night. After the women had discovered they were both on the East coast they’d met up a number of times before Izzy had returned to service. It might have been considered a difficult friendship to maintain, with Hartley stuck abroad in warzones for months on end. It was a good thing neither woman was particularly clingy, when Isabelle came home they slipped into their old dynamic without friction. It wasn’t a close friendship in the way that they would get together and discuss their lives for hours without pause, it was more built on respect, and the ability to silently appreciate each other.

May had never surpassed the chance to surround herself with incredible women, which is probably why she’d been so keen to adopt daughters. Growing up she’d been in awe of her own mother’s strength of character. Without even registering it Melinda had developed this apt drive to connect with as many of those types of women as possible.

And that’s when she would find herself thinking of Bobbi. The incredible Bobbi Morse. They’d been close once.

Two months since the email and it was still just as painful a subject as ever. It was all so new, not something they could bring themselves to discuss openly yet, especially around Hunter. Melinda knew all the bravado and posturing was to cover up the fact he was falling apart. The amount of times he’d show up late to work with bloodshot eyes… from crying… or worse.

That first week afterward he’d been an incomprehensible mess. Mack had dragged him, soggy as a used dishtowel, out of what was probably every bar in Maryland, and carried him, fists flailing, from the midst of at least four fights.

Hunter and Bobbi’s story was complicated, a romantic epic in its own unique, painful way.

A base in the Canal zone, almost 9 years ago, Bobbi had been stationed there for 3 months when the first British troops arrived; drones of pasty, squared-jawed young men in fresh uniforms, yelling corny, childish jokes at each other in funny accents. Of course Bobbi had fallen in love with one, and when she fell, she fell hard… and fast. The object of her affections had been a certain London-born Private by the name of Lance Hunter; or as she had so aptly described him in her earlier letters home _‘the short, pale one with the stupid haircut’_. Obviously Hunter had been just as enamoured, who wouldn’t be; Bobbi Morse was shaped like a Greek goddess with the winning smile and personality to match. _‘Bobbi Morse was… she was…’_ Melinda flinched to think of her old friend in the past tense.

It had been a whirlwind romance, Melinda knew that much, though she’d been removed from the action, living, quite literally, half a world away. They’d been married not 2 months after meeting. May had never truly understood it, she hadn’t understood how they’d expected a duel-continental marriage to work, how they could know they wanted to be together forever after 2 months, but she’d respected Bobbi enough not to criticise. It had fallen apart almost as soon as they had landed on American soil. May had watched the way they’d yelled at each other, seen Bobbi sobbing into Hartley’s shoulder… but she’d also seen the way they gazed at each other when the other one wasn’t looking. Especially Hunter… Lance Hunter had been so in love. Melinda believed he still was, almost a decade apart and still the man was carrying an impressive torch.

It hadn’t just ended, it had exploded. Rings were thrown, words were screamed, terrible things they’d regretted the moment they said them. It had ended in slammed doors, heart-broken sobs, and divorce papers sent first-class over the ocean that opened up between them. Hunter ran home, and Bobbi ran away.

The woman had announced she was going to her parent’s place in California for a while. The Shield team had lost contact, after a year or two they had no idea where Bobbi was. Melinda had never thought much of it, she’d been upset, of course, but people fell out of each other’s lives all the time. A couple of phone calls, a letter, and nothing, for over 8 years.

Lance turning up on their doorstep all these years later to tell them he was looking for his ex-wife was the last thing the Coulsons had expected. Melinda remembered sitting him down and exploring his intentions.

 _‘No. No…no.’_ Hunter had bent over, rubbing his eyes in a distressed fashion, _‘I don’t want her back… not really, I just… need to apologise.’_

As the weeks of searching had turned into months Lance had somehow settled into life in America, renewed his visa, and accepted Phil’s job offer.

There still weren’t the words to describe the feeling of sickening dread that had risen in her lungs, crushing her, obstructing her ability to draw breath, when Hunter had arrived on their doorstep in the dead of night, red-faced, tear streaked, shaking. Phil had half hauled, half guided him into the kitchen to sit at the table. As soon as he’d touched him the man had broken down in sobs again, unable to articulate his message.

 _‘I…’_ Lance had choked, _‘didn’t know… where to go…’_ He’d quivered violently, teeth gritted as he tried to force down the next round of powerful sobs. So incapable of saying the words he’d simply unlocked his phone and pushed the device over the Phil and Melinda so they could see the email displayed on the screen.

_‘Mr Lance Hunter,_

_It is with great regret and our deepest condolences that we must inform you that the military personnel for which you inquired on our assistance in locating, Corporal Barbara Morse (MD), was reported presumed dead on the 28 th day of May this current year, 1997. Corporal Morse (MD) is presumed to have sacrificed herself in the name of her country whilst attending to the wounds of the 32nd Infantry Regiment within the parameters of enemy territory on the 14th day of May. This news is met with the greatest sorrow from her residing Sergeant and the fellow soldiers and doctors with which she served. _

_Sincerely,_

_Jhon P. Madison_

_The Office of the AMEDD.’_

Melinda May could easily say that night was one of the worst nights of her life.

 

* * *

 

For what was perhaps the 30th time that day, the littlest Coulson landed butt first on the ground with a soft yelp.

“That was great!” Trip whooped from all the way over the other side of the otherwise empty basketball court.

Skye leapt up, and jumped into the air, waving her arms in triumph at Trip, “I did it! How smooth was that?”

She’d managed to stay on the board for a good while, just cruising, before she’d tried to turn and subsequently tumbled off.

“You did good.” Trip praised.

Skye dropped the board back on the ground and rolled speedily back to Trip, leaning back hard to brake, catching the end of the board as it came up under the opposing pressure.

“I have something for you.” Trip motioned for her to wait and sped off before Skye could call after him.

The girl spent a couple of minutes getting even more familiar with Trip’s skateboard, marvelling in the amount of control she now felt, as long as she didn’t try anything too adventurous.

The slam of the gate opening and shutting, the metal connecting, drew her attention. Trip hurried toward her, another skateboard held out before him.

“What’s this?” Skye frowned as the little boy pushed the new board into her arms.

“My old one, it’s still good to use. You can have it.”

Skye examined the object, noting the little Captain America decal of Steve Rogers himself worked into the gritted surface. She turned it over in her hands to take in the design on the bottom, only slightly scuffed. All that could be seen was ‘CAP’ and ‘AME’, one underneath the other, but Skye knew exactly what it was. It was a perfect match to the Captain America comics Phil had framed in his office; slightly retro, just a section of it, the red, white, and blue title, the yellow banner, the shield, with all the stars and stripes.

“No way, I can’t take this.” She wanted to, of course she did, but she’d only destroy it, abandon it, or it would be lost in the system if she went back. _‘If’_ Skye paused, she’d started thinking in uncertainties?

“Your dad gave it to me for my birthday.” Trip explained, “I don’t use it anymore, so… it makes sense for you to have it.”

“Trip…” Skye trailed off, shaking her head at his kindness.

“Take it, com’on Girl, please! You’d be doing me a solid.” Trip enthused, all but begging, pushing the board further into her arms.

 

* * *

Skye was enjoying this. The carpets of the Centre were cheap and rough, flat enough that she could zip across them without too much trouble. There was something about it. Rolling across the floor of a Centre her… her parents owned, in an ‘Instructor’ t-shirt, riding on a board bought by her… dad, and given to her by a kid she now considered her best friend. She felt like she was so firmly a part of something now, it overwhelmed her.

She’d handed back Trip’s protective gear so he could go find his Mom and go home, and left her helmet with her bike just inside the front entrance, under the careful and watchful eye of one Eric Koenig. She wasn’t too worried about falling off inside, the floor was soft enough the worst she’d get is a bruise.

Bored with no one to talk to she continued, building up her experience. Trip had told her it was just like his grandma always said, ‘practise makes perfect’. The more time she spent doing it the easier it would get… a lot of things worked that way, she supposed. Skye didn’t even stop grinning when she tried to turn sharply and smacked into the wall. She was so preoccupied by her own newfound independence she failed to react quick enough when a large, muscular figure entered the hallway, standing right in the spot she’d been about to skate through.

Mack jolted, but didn’t see the girl quick enough to move out the way. Skye slammed into his side, but he was like a brick wall, an eight year old hitting him wouldn’t even make a dent. The eight year old in question, however, was knocked off her board, the board’s sudden tip upward dumping her on her front.

“Wow! Slow down there Tony Hawk, you okay?” Genuine concern filled Alphonso Mackenzie’s features as he knelt down beside the girl.

Skye was breathing heavily, almost panting, both from excersion and shock.

“You sound out of breath?” Mack’s eyes were wide, he didn’t know how to deal with a panicking little girl. This was not his area of expertise, and May and Coulson were stuck in a meeting.

“No, I have more.” Skye answered in a matter-of-fact fashion, demonstrating by taking a deep breath in, and a moment later pushing it back out again.

Mack gritted his teeth. It was as his eyes swept over her, checking for injuries that he noticed the redness of her hands, friction burns from the rough commerical carpeting, and a graze along her jaw and the bridge of her nose where the skin had been broken. She needed a little bit of first aid… that he could do, if she let him near her.

“Hey, Skye, you got a couple of little grazes, you want me to patch them up?” Mack tried, masking his insecurites with as genuine a smile as he could manage.

Skye stayed very still, and then her bottom lip began to tremble. Her instincts took over, and like any small child in pain she started to cry for her mom.

“Where’s Melinda?” Skye’s shoulders shook, bottom lip jutting despite her attempt to quell it, tears tumbling down her heated cheeks.

This is when Mack started to panick too. He’d been told not to disturb Phil and Melinda, but they hadn’t exactly specified what to do in the event of their eight year old bursting into tears right in front of him.

“Okay.” Mack thought quick, “Okay, I need you to concentrate, what would your mom do if she was here?”

Skye hiccuped, his suggestion drawing her attention, “She’d sit by me and cuddle me and say _‘Méiyǒu shénme kě dānxīn de, Máomao. Shénme dōu méiyǒu. Ān rán wú yang.’_ And…” The little girl hiccuped again. She contentrated on those words, hearing them echoing in her mind with Melinda’s voice. _‘There’s nothing to worry about, Little One. Nothing at all. Safe and sound.’_

Mack, of course, was lost, though he tried hard not to show it, “Uh… concentrate on that, what next?”

Skye’s brow was furrowed, she blinked away the few tears that were teetering, caught in her long eyelashes, “She’d help me up and take me somewhere to get a band-aid.”

“Well…” Mack began, slowly, “Melinda will be here soon, but she can’t be here right now. So, if I promise very, very hard that I will never try to hurt you, will you let me help you?”

Skye wanted to believe him… she did believe him. Instructor Mackensize had very honest eyes. “Okay.” Skye agreed in a small voice.

Though she was persuaded, she refused his offered hand, wincing as she clambered back up onto her feet all by herself. Letting him show her to the reception area, where they kept the first aid kit.

Skye used a stool and climbed up onto the desk built into the wall, so she could sit at the height of Mack’s midsection. To her left she could see the back of Keonig’s head as he watched the front desk, and everything beyond, the front entrance to the left and the café straight ahead.

While she was cautious about letting Mack touch her, the fact she allowed him to carry her new (old) skateboard was a sign of trust in of itself.

“This may sting a bit, Scrappy. You ready?” Mack warned. They were poised facing one another, Mack ready with an anticeptic wipe in hand.

Skye stilled, face set, “Bring it.”

Mack forced down his laughter. He could tell Skye was trying to seem as hard as nails but if anything she just looked even more adorable.

She managed not to recoil as he cleaned her up.

“What Band-Aid do you want? We have…” Mack dug around in the Tupperware box, “Well… most of the Disney princess ones are gone, we have some blue ones…” The man trailed off as he collected a selection in his hands.

Skye peered over, feet swinging as they dangled over the edge of the desk, waiting patiently.

“Big ones! I mean, the adult ones.” Skye suggested.

“Yes, Sir.” Mack smiled affectionately at the little girl, turning back to her. He half expected Skye to draw away from him and ask for a mirror so she could do it herself, but she didn’t, she simply jutted out her jaw so Mack could locate the grazes easier. He gently applied the plain, white Band-Aids.

It was as soon as Skye was all strapped back together and leaving the reception office, skateboard tucked under her arm, that Melinda and Phil finally appeared. Two people Skye didn’t recognise walking close behind. A tall man in a smart, leather jacket, his eyes obscured by the pair of dark sunglasses. A petite, brunette woman with shoulders squared evenly, and a clean-cut pant suit that matched her no-nonsense demeanour.

“Skye?” Phil was the first to notice the patch stuck across Skye’s small nose.

“Máomao, what happened?” Melinda’s brow furrowed as she ran her gaze over the grubby, injured, smiley girl, standing tall with a board in her arms. She rushed to her, a finger under Skye’s chin, May examined the Band-Aids agitatedly.

“I learnt to skateboard!” Skye announced proudly.

 

* * *

“Somebody get the door!” Melinda called, grumpy as she loaded dirty crockery into the dishwasher.

The bell rang again.

May growled under her breath. Abandoning what she was doing to charge toward the front door, flicking the latch, and tugging it open.

“Ma’am,” The man on the doorstep acknowledged, nodding respectfully, “You have to sign for this.” He offered her a letter, official-looking in a pristine white envelope. She recognise the logo on the front and sucked in a sharp breath in response.

“Thank you.” She forgot her anger as she accepted the envelope, along with the other letters he had for their address. She scrawled her signature across the electronic pad he offered her. Closing the door she just stood a second, holding it to her chest.

“Melinda?” Skye’s voice reached her.

The woman turned, taking in the sight of the little girl rocking on the balls of her feet, all ready for bed, hair still a little damp from her bath.

“Hey.” May responded softly. Abandoning the letter, she dropped it along with the rest of the small pile on the foyer bureau.

Skye held Melinda’s gaze knowingly. There was something they both shared, though, perhaps neither of them was quite sure what it was.

The girl lifted her arms, reaching out, fingers curling.

Without a word, Melinda reciprocated, slipping her hands under Skye’s arms and lifting her, ever so gently, up and into her, so they were chest to chest. Skye placed her arms lightly around Melinda’s neck, relaxing as the woman wrapped and locked both arms under Skye’s under legs, holding her close.

May acknowledged that this little girl was hers now, and no attorney, or court hearing, was ever going to change that

 

* * *

“So much for a speedy adoption.” Phil sighed, sat back against the pillows with a darkened expression.

“I don’t like this.” Melinda complained, pacing at the end of the bed, the letter, now open, still in her grip.

“Mel, our history may not be complicated but Skye’s is. They may have a good reason.” Phil defended the state’s decision half-heartedly. He didn’t particularly want to wait another month either.

“We set out the adoption plan _with_ them.” Melinda reminded him with gritted teeth, “They can’t just postpone that like this, it’s not fair on Skye.”

Phil didn’t have it in him to disagree with her, she was right.

“A lot can happen in seven months Phil.” May pursed her lips and folded her arms.

“We knew we’d need a 6 month review to finalise this. Honestly, I think we got lucky. As long as the final study goes well we're free and clear until the court hearing.” Phil admitted.

She sat down on the edge of the bed looking dejected.

“What are you thinking?”

There was a beat of silence,

“They could still take her away.” Melinda shook her head lightly at her own words, eyes downcast.

“What?” Phil sat up a little straighter.

His wife looked to him with a heavy gaze, “Until this is done, they can take her back whenever they like. What if she falls into the pool at work, what if hurts herself and-”

“We get named negligent.” Phil finished for her. The man swung his legs off the bed and sidled up to May. His heart ached for her. It wouldn't do any good to tell her she was being irrational, because she knew that, she just couldn't seem to stop these anxious thoughts from invading.

“Every time she scrapes herself or trips…” May’s voice faltered. She’d rush to the girl’s side, so afraid of losing Skye she’d lose her cool and collected exterior completely.

“We’ll be okay.” Phil comforted. He said it with conviction, because he believed it… he had to believe it. "Melinda, kids get hurt, it happens. You can't protect her from everything."

 

* * *

“Skye…” A light, careful whisper roused her further as she tugged on a pair of socks. Still groggy from sleeping she didn’t quite believe her ears, that was, until the voice came again, “Skye?”

The girl plodded over to her bedroom door, tugging it open just a crack she peered out, and then upwards.

Clint looked down at her with a half-smile and shadows under his eyes.

“What is it?” Skye asked, equally as quiet. It was early, usually only she and Melinda were up at this hour. Natasha and William were ambiguous, but the rest tended to sleep in.

“Can I come in?”

Skye chewed her lip a moment in consideration, then backed away, opening the door wider to allow him access.

“I have something for you.” Clint said, setting himself down on the edge of her bed with a creak of the mattress. He took out a large envelop from behind his back.

“What is it?” Skye frowned, clambering onto the sheets to sit beside him.

“A list, basically.” Clint blew out his cheeks as he opened the envelope to show Skye its contents. At list he’d gone to great lengths to get his hands on. “I looked into that picture of yours.”

“Rosie’s dad.” Skye nodded, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Skye, you know what a registration plate is, right?” Clint inquired.

Skye shook her head.

“Well it’s the numbers and letters on the back and front of a car… or a bike that tell you who it belongs to.” Clint explained. “There was a plate in the picture you gave me.”

“And they told you who Rosie’s dad is?” Skye all but gasped.

Clint flinched apologetically, “Sorry Kiddo, not quite.” He tapped the list in front of him. “But I did manage work out it was a British plate.”

Skye nodded, “Yes. Rosie said her dad might not be American.”

“It’s owned by a London dealership that rents bikes. They didn’t have records going back more than 5 years, so this is as close as I’ve got.”

He slipped the list, just one clean, crisp sheet of paper, into Skye’s eager hands.

“This is a list of soldiers deployed to Panama by the British Army in 1989. I narrowed it down by gender and ethnicity, assuming the initials L.H. on the back of the photo are his… that gives us 36 names.”

It hadn’t been an easy thing to do. The information was public, technically, but you had to ask nicely, and at length, which had meant lots of emails, and lots of sucking up to the officials that policed the national archives.

Skye bit her lip, momentarily throwing the paper aside and flinging her arms around the young man’s neck, much to his surprise. “Thanks, Clint.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt.

Clint patted her on the back, slightly awkward, but pleased with himself, “Don’t thank me yet, still got to figure out which one he is.” Clint dug into his pocket as Skye pulled away, tugging the infamous photo from its depths. “I guess you should have this back.” He considered it a moment, “It’s weird. When I look at this guy he seems kind of familiar… I guess I’ve just been looking at this photo a bit too much, huh?” Clint laughed it off, but it weighed on him still.

Skye took the list in her hands again, gripping it tightly.

For a forever there had been this heavy emptiness within her, like a part of herself had wandered off and got lost a long time ago. It had always been that way. That was what being an orphan was. Some definitions suggested it was having dead parents, but that was such a two-dimensional way of looking at it. It couldn’t be defined by facts, being an orphan existed as an absence, not just of parental guidance but inside of yourself. You could have a hundred moms and dads and still carry that absence inside of you. It was that absence of home.

There’d been so many houses and beds she’d resided in, but never a home. Never a place where she’d felt completely safe falling asleep at night, never a place with her artwork on the fridge, never a place… with her picture hanging on the wall. Until now.

She wasn’t an idiot, she knew she had problems. She’d been a bad kid; that was the only way she’d known how to connect, to make sense of things. Sometimes she’d been so angry, so angry it was almost blinding.

_‘Cory, you have to shut her up, I’m trying to work.’ Tom complained, covering his ears and gritting his teeth._

_Skye’s bottom lip quivered. The screaming baby was held fast in her outstretched arms as she sat cross-legged on the carpet. Mrs Evans had ‘popped out’ leaving them alone, the problem was that she’d promised to be back in 40 minutes… and she still wasn’t back an hour later._

_‘Cory!’ Tom called again, more forcefully._

_‘I don’t know how.’ Skye trembled, blinking away tears as she watched the baby’s face grow redder and redder. Maybe she needed a diaper change? Skye didn’t really want to have to do that._

_Tom growled loudly, abandoning his seat at the desk and storming off._

_Skye looked back to the tiny girl, only 6 months old… so innocent, but Skye was so angry. Why couldn’t she just be quiet until their foster mom came home? Skye wasn’t big enough to deal with this. She didn’t even know where Pattie had wandered off to, she was so busy with the baby that she hadn’t noticed the three year old escape. She'd be in for it if she didn't find Pattie before Mr Evans came home. She could feel the backs of her legs beginning to burn at the thought._

_‘Shut up.’ Skye sobbed, choking on her tears._

_The baby continued to scream._

_‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ Skye yelled in the baby’s face, again, and again, and again. Her eyelids clenched, her whole body heaving with hatred as she shook the baby aggressively in desperation._

_The crying stopped, and Skye opened her eyes wide to see a set of huge, innocent, blue eyes staring back at her, startled. The other child’s dazed expression almost broke the girl, because suddenly she saw herself reflected back in the baby’s eyes, and she understood why she couldn’t do this, she couldn’t be this person. This was who they’d made her, and she couldn’t let them have that. She deserved to be angry… but not like this._

_The baby began to cry again after a short moment. This time Skye drew her in, cradling her close, resting her on her knees as she tucked them into herself. The baby’s hot, damp cheek pressed into Skye’s neck._

_‘I’m sorry, Lily. I’m so sorry.’ Skye told the baby with sincerity, tears trailing down her cheeks. She rubbed Lily’s back in a soothing fashion, kissing the baby’s forehead, trying to convey her apology with more than words._

_Slowly the screaming subsided, becoming sobs, and then snuffles. Skye quietly marveled at the development, gently rocking the baby as she drifted into sleep. All she’d needed was a cuddle._

So many kids she’d known had filled that gap within themselves with anger. She might have fallen prey to that fate to, but something had clicked that day for Skye, and she’d made a conscious decision to never let that happen. However, in making that decision she’d resigned herself to leaving that emptiness untended. She didn’t have love, or any emotion of the similar to fill it with, she had plenty anger and resentment and hurt, but she wouldn’t give them that power over her. All that was left was hope, patchy and untrustworthy as it was. Hope had worked well enough, but using it to fulfill herself was much like using duct tape to put person back together… it wasn’t going to keep her forever. Always the demons played on her mind. Now she had something better to fill that space with: family. And she had a new hope, that she could give the same thing to Rosie Morse.

 

* * *

_please follow me at[coulsonskids](http://www.coulsonskids.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_

* * *

 

 

 


	12. I Will Trust And Not Be Afraid: Isaiah 12:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SMALL DESCRIPTION OF/ALLUSION TO VIOLENT CHILD ABUSE

Skye was all jumbled emotions and apprehensive hands, short nails digging into her palms and fingers that twisted each other nervously. Life seemed to move quicker here. She was 8 years, 1 month, and 2 weeks old now. She’d been with the Coulsons four weeks, but it felt like longer.

Already there was something different. It didn’t feel like the other times. It was harder. It was so much harder. This was something that broke Skye’s heart every time she pondered it, and she pondered it a lot. There was a safety in hurting from the beginning, especially when you knew to expect it; it was impossible to break something that was already broken. But the Coulsons had given her something she couldn’t even understand. For the first time in her memory she felt like things would get better, and she could see a happy future here. She felt a little less broken, and that’s why losing this might have the potential to destroy her.

Lucky’s wet nose nudged her foot as she stared out the front bay window. He was her only company, with Clint and Katie still in bed, and Natasha practicing ballet all the way over the other side of the house. Skye knelt up on her knees, squinting with purpose; she was waiting for her parents to come home, but also for the little green hatchback she knew so well.

Phil and Melinda didn’t talk about it to Skye directly… exactly, but Phil had still explained to her what today was very simply whilst they were making breakfast, before he and Melinda went out for a short while. He’d told her not to worry, that it was just a thing they had to do. It was going to be like any other home visitation.

Except today Dani was coming. The last time she’d seen her social worker felt like a lifetime ago. There’d been three short visits from the adoption agency since Skye had arrived, but never Dani. Just strange individuals with clipboards and can-do attitudes that flitted in and out once a week. They’d asked her question after question: _‘What’s everyone like?’ ‘Do you like it here?’ ‘Do you want to stay?’_

Skye let out a shuddering breath. 

_‘Do you want to stay?’_

The little girl held her breath and blew out her cheeks.

Would she rather stay with these people? These people who made her feel special, and taught her things, and let her cry when she was sad, and wiped away her tears, and told her it was going to be okay. Would she prefer them to creaky beds, stained and scuffed handy-downs, and hordes of sullen discarded kids biding their time, waiting for someone to care without being paid to do it? Skye had always been grateful for them, for the kinder nuns, for Dani, but they weren’t parents. They weren’t …this.

Skye sighed again, sinking down into the cushions, chewing her lip. Curled up with her arms around her legs, holding it together.

Lucky bounced on his front paws, forming a commiseration half way between a yap and a whine, like he was desperate to comfort the girl. He jumped up onto the window seat and crawled gently up Skye’s legs as she let go of them, collapsing on her with huff from both parties, his large head resting on Skye’s stomach.

Skye put out one hand and scratched the top of his head lovingly, running a thumb over the dog’s brow, right above his missing eye. Just a tightly closed, crumpled eyelid now, short, straight white scars over the cheekbone. It didn’t unnerve her, it just made her a little angry. Skye knew scars, and she knew what they looked like when they came from a knife.

Skye sniffed. Lucky bucked his head and licked her hand.

“How are you so nice, when they were so mean?” The little girl whispered.

The dog snuffled, wet nose glistening, as he lay his head back down on her abdomen.

“I have them too… Scars. We’re not so different.” Skye considered, stroking the dog’s forehead slowly with her index finger, his fur short and silky. His head bobbed up and down a little and his good eye stayed trained on her, so Skye liked to think he was agreeing.

“You deserved better Buddy.” She murmured. Bottom lip trembling, she realised something. A profound truth she’d slowly come to realise over the past few weeks. Maybe she was Lucky? Maybe she wasn’t bad, maybe she’d just been around bad people? Skye didn’t think she’d been acting any different here than she had with her other families… and yet Melinda and Phil never yelled at her, or told her she was a bad kid.

She tried to be polite, and kind, and truthful. She tried really hard, and wasn’t that the best a kid could do? To try to be good.

Skye shivered, biting back her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. She looked out the window again; from this angle she saw only an expanse of blue sky. Whispering partly to Lucky, partly to herself, “Maybe I deserved better too? ...maybe I am a good kid.”

 

* * *

 

“Mr and Mrs Coulson. Come in.” Victoria Hand motioned for the couple to enter her office. A room of good size that balanced the old and the new in perfect equality; solid, dark wood furniture and plush cushions. Professional and cool, much like its occupier.

“Thanks for seeing us at short notice.” Phil said genuinely.

“No problem at all.” Victoria sat them down and took her place on the opposite side of her large desk, dark eyes framed by black-rimmed spectacles. She pushed them up her nose, opening the top, right hand draw of her desk to tug a file of her own from its depths.

“I looked over the paperwork. Everything seems to be in order. But then you’re old hands at this I suppose.” Victoria smiled slightly, straightening the file, ever the perfectionist.

May moistened her lips before she spoke, “You’re aware the hearing has been postponed to March next year?”

Victoria nodded, “Honestly with all the complications surrounding this case I’m glad of the extra month, but I’m sure like most adoptive parents you’re keen to finalise as soon as possible.”

Phil shifted, sitting a little straighter in his seat, “Complications?”

“Cory’s case is a complicated one legally -”

“Skye.” Melinda piped up.

Victoria quirked an eyebrow, pausing.

 “She prefers Skye.” Phil reiterated.

“Sorry, yes.” Victoria’s features softened, and she continued, “Basically Skye’s adoption is a little more complicated than Clint or Kate’s was. They were orphans, whereas Skye’s abandonment means it was up to the state to declare her birth parent’s parental rights terminated, of course they had to prove the abandonment was wilful which wasn’t hard in the case of her mother, but in the case of her father…”

“We don’t know if he was complicit; if he even knew about Skye.” Phil finished.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s in the interest of the state to place children into the best possible home situation. We have a good case.”

“But you’re saying if he ever did turn up, there could be a problem.” Melinda said. Half a statement, half a question.

“I think a minor one, and it’s not worth worrying over something that will most likely never happen. Even if he did somehow manage to find Skye his parental rights would have effectively been terminated, and you would be her parents in the eyes of the law. Let’s say, theoretically, he did come forward, would you be against him having a relationship with her?”

Phil caught May’s strong gaze out the corner of his eye then turned back to Victoria. “If we didn’t think it would hurt Skye, I don’t see why not.”

“Well, there you go. Being her parents legally would give you control over the situation, should it ever come to that, which I feel I should repeat to be highly unlikely.”

“So, we don’t have worry?” Phil asked, still a little uncomfortable with the situation.

“No.” The corners of Victoria’s mouth curled, forming a small, reassuring smile, “The only thing you should be worrying about right now is spending time with your daughter.”

 

* * *

 

Clint swore under his breath, having stubbed his toe and slammed his face into the door already this morning, he’d just caught his little finger in the medi-cabinet door. Tugging his bruised digit free he waved his hand around to try and regain normal blood flow.

He muttered as he examined his face in the mirror. He looked like shit. There were dark patches under his tired, blue eyes, a small cut over his left eyebrow, and wound on the bridge of his nose where the skin had split upon connecting with the bathroom door. Turning the faucet and splashing a little cold water in his face helped wake him up a bit.

He saw Skye appear at the door, apprehensive, with a small, plastic red box in her hands.

Clint saw her mouth form his name, and so he held up a finger, gesturing for her to pause a moment. The boy reached out for the purple hearing aids that were sat on the edge of the sink. Expertly placing them in his ears and fiddling with the volume a moment.

“Can you hear me now?”

“Loud and clear, Kid. You okay?” Clint rubbed his eyes as he sat down on the lid of the toilet.

“I heard you bump into the door.” Skye explained.

“You did, did you?” Clint smiled despite himself.

“You said a bad word.” Skye bit back her own smile.

“Yeah I did, no repeating it till you’re a grown-up, okay?” Clint grimaced, if their Mom found out he was teaching Skye bad habits he’d be in for it. “You come to patch me up?”

Skye reached out her arms and Clint lifted the little girl onto his knee.

This had become an unspoken arrangement. Clint had a propensity for injuring himself on a regular basis. If it weren’t enough that he was already an uncoordinated mess outside of the ring, Boxing classes with Hunter never seemed to end well for him either. Skye’s days at the centre consisted of sitting in on classes,  badgering her siblings to teach her things, playing ‘Snap’ with Hunter and Trip in the break room, and patching up any unfortunate souls who wandered into the med bay with minor cuts. She was in charge of the Band-Aid box.

When Trip had given her the skateboard he’d created the Band-Aid box, which was basically his old red lunch box with ‘To Skye, Skateboarding Band-Aids, Love Trip’ written in a wobbly hand on the top in black marker, with a couple of skateboarding and Captain America themed stickers placed around it. Inside there were an assortment of different patches from Disney princess themed to plain white.

Clint held onto the box for her as Skye peeled the back off a white band-aid and reached up to place it over the split on Clint’s nose.

“Am I gonna live, Doc?”

Skye giggled, “Yes.” The little girl patted the sides gently down with her index fingers to make sure the patch was secure.

“Skye…” Clint paused a second, scrunching up his nose as he got used to the feel of the band-aid. “What _do_ you want to be when you grow up?” There was a heaviness in his tone. He knew the weight of his question. Foster kids didn’t think about the future the same way as other children; it was hard to plan where you wanted to be at 25 when you didn’t even know where you were going to be next week.

She pondered her answers, she wanted to be truthful; A writer? A pianist? A skateboarder? …being a Shield Arts Instructor would be cool. But she already was that. She even got paid. When her mom was handing out the pay slips last Friday Skye had been sat on the front counter, swinging her legs, with Billy… or Sam… or Eric, she still couldn’t quite tell which was which, muttering to themselves behind her. May had smiled down at the final envelope a short moment, before silently offering it to a stunned Skye. 4 green crisp one dollar bills. First lot of pocket money she’d had in her whole life.

The girl chewed her lip, glancing back up into Clint’s blue eyes apprehensively, “I don’t know…” Skye squinted in thought, “I guess… just… here.”

Clint looked a little broken at her admission, but it didn’t last. There was no reason to feel sorry for her, because he believed… no, he knew, she’d be here forever. He formed a humorously quizzical expression instead, “You mean in this bathroom?” He smirked at his own joke.

Skye burst into keen giggles, “No! Clint.” She grabbed the front of his shirt to stop herself falling off his knee.

Clint waited for her to stop laughing, enjoying the sight.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Skye was still smiling as she asked.

Clint snorted, unsure whether she was joking or not. He didn’t have time to respond.

Skye’s smile faltered as she realised something, “Um…, Clint.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you do? Like, as a job.” She didn’t actually know. She’d heard Phil mention that Clint had got time off work to come see them, but she’d never really considered it beyond that.

“I… uh… work in private security. In the city.” Clint tried to seem engaged, but his eyes flickered with something akin to disappointment. It wasn’t the job he’d wanted. It wasn’t the dream. But it paid, and he could be close to Natasha.

“So… you protect people.”

The corners of Clint’s mouth turned upward, “I guess I do.”

There was a long pause. A heavy pause.

Skye tried to think of something to say, chin trembling, barely noticeable. “Because of him?”

Clint’s eyes a watery blue, glittering, mouth pursed in a slight reassuring smile, “Because I’m not him.”

Skye had recognised something familiar in Clint the day they’d met. She didn’t know how, but she’d known they came from the same place.

“Do you have… ?” Skye didn’t finish her sentence, but her hand fell, fingers softly playing across her marred skin. She'd always wondered. 

Clint’s eyes fell to the thin white lines he could just about see curling around the sides of the little girl’s legs. He’d seen them before, but he’d never felt more sickened over their origins than he did in this moment.

The young man looked solemnly into his little sister’s eyes and reached round a hand to pull the left side of his shirt all the way up to just under his armpit.

Skye squinted, tilting her head at what she saw. Her lips parted in shock. She knew these marks. Four of them. Small, brown circular scars. In her mind she suddenly heard a child’s squeal, and the tell-tale sound of sizzling as the lit cigarette hit flesh. It had never happened to her, but witnessing it had scarred her mind as far as it could have scarred her body.

Clint dropped the shirt when he saw Skye flinch. Muttering a sincere apology; He hadn’t meant to scare her.

Skye shook her head, reaching toward him, kneeling up on Clint’s thigh to wrap two, slim, little arms around his neck.

This was one of those moments. Like when Melinda had kissed her on the head, or when Phil had swung her up into his arms, where she so desperately wanted to tell them she loved them. Now for so different a reason. Clint was her big brother, and she was beginning to love him… but bad things always happened when she told people that. She didn’t want bad things to happen here. She couldn't tell him.

She couldn’t tell them.

 

* * *

 

“This is my room.” Skye announced proudly, pushing the door back and standing aside so Dani could enter, clipboard tucked under her arm.

Dani was different now. Except she wasn’t. Skye couldn’t help but think it. Her old social worker still had her hair up the way she always had, the same light eye make-up, the same smile, the same warmth… but there was something different now. Maybe it wasn’t Dani who’d changed though, maybe it was Skye. The little girl furrowed her brow, deep in thought, oblivious for a moment.

Dani said something.

“What? Sorry.” Skye’s head shot up in response, eyes widening. “Sorry, I didn’t hear.”

“That’s okay,” Dani reassured her, smiling warmly. “I was just saying it’s very neat in here.”

Skye was not a neat child usually. Truthfully she didn’t see the difference between leaving her top on the floor or folding it up on a chair, but Melinda insisted that it was important she keep her room clean, and this was Phil and Melinda’s home. She didn’t mind doing as she was told so much when Phil or Melinda were the ones asking. She might have pouted a bit when Melinda had said her skateboard had to stay downstairs by the door, and wasn’t to be used in the house, but that was as far as it went…

_“Do I let you walk around the house in your shoes?” Melinda didn’t look down at the little girl. Busy, with her rubber-gloved hands scrubbing the baking dish left over from dinner._

_Skye tilted her head, wondering if this was a trick question, “No?”_

_“Do you know why?”_

_“Shoes are mucky.”_

_“Aren’t your board’s wheels also mucky, Máomao?” Melinda stopped scouring the dish, pausing to look over and gauge Skye’s reaction to her sound logic._

_The girl struggled to reign in her protruding bottom lip, crossing her arms defiantly. “No…” She tried._

_Melinda continued to gaze down, unwavering._

_Skye still wasn’t ready to give up, “What if I cleaned the wheels every-“_

_“Skye,” Melinda’s tone was firm and final._

_“Fine.” Skye huffed, hanging her head in defeat. She hoped Melinda wasn’t too annoyed with her._

_Melinda noticed it too. Skye was always afraid to make a fuss about things. Melinda couldn’t believe it, but she actually wished Skye would throw a tantrum once in a while. She deserved to be angry, Melinda could see the fire simmering under the girl’s skin, the heat behind her eyes, even if Skye couldn’t see it herself. May was scared, terrified, that one day keeping it all in would become too much. Skye was too used to volatile disagreements… how could May show her that just because she said ‘no’ it didn’t mean she loved the girl any less._

_“Hey,” She called out._

_Looking up just in time to see a dish towel hurtling straight toward her, Skye put up her hands to protect herself, giggling as the cloth landed over her head. She pulled it from her face, her previously neat bangs in disarray, and grinned up at her mother._

_“Bāng wǒ yíxià?” Melinda, still a tiny, warm smile dancing across her lips, gestured to the washing up she’d already done where it was sat on the rack. “Give me a hand?” She translated._

_Skye obediently scuttled over, still grinning, to pick up the closest sud-covered pot. Hefting it up and over to herself so she could begin to dry it._

_Melinda finished with the big dish and placed it on the rack too. Pulling off her lilac-coloured rubber gloves, she watched Skye tuck the plate she’d just dried into the draw to her left._

_“Here.” The woman crouched, falling onto one knee so she was looking up into her daughter’s face. Wide deep brown eyes, more of a mahogany colour today. Melinda reached up, gentle fingers re-organising Skye’s bangs. When she was finished she placed her hands either side of Skye’s face, palms against her jaw with the pads of her thumbs gently brushing along the girl’s cheekbones._

_Skye was giving her a strange look; disbelief and fear and hope and …love? It was all mixed up on her face._

_Melinda felt the tremor under her fingertips as something broke._

_Skye melted, flinging her arms around her mother. Small fingers digging into the fabric of Melinda’s white shirt._

_“Sorry I was bad,” Skye whispered, with heart-breaking conviction and sincerity. Pressing her eyelids tight, determined not to cry._

_“Oh, Máomao. Bú duì. Bú duì.” Melinda muttered softly, a hand going to the back of her daughter’s head. ‘No. No.’_

_The little girl was knelt on Melinda’s lap, tucked in, as they sat on the kitchen floor._

_“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Skye was worried when May seemed to push her away, but she found herself still sat in Melinda’s lap, forced to gaze into her mother’s eyes. “You did nothing wrong, Máomao. Okay?”_

_Skye nodded._

_“Do you know why I’m right?”_

_Put on the spot, the little girl reverted to joking, remembering the conversation clearly, what her grandpa William had said about May the day he and Lian had left, ‘Remember, Máomao, your mother’s always right. Always.’ Then he’d asked her if she knew how to say that in mandarin._

_“Nǐ zǒng shì duì de.” A small smirked appeared on Skye’s lips. ‘You’re always right.’_

_“Exactly.” May tucked a stray stand behind the little girl’s ear. She leant it a little closer, and added softly, “Which is why you’re still not allowed to use that skateboard inside.”_

“Skye?” Dani’s voiced reached her.

“Hm,” Skye responded, remembering Dani’s compliment. “Oh, Melinda says I should keep it clean. Look!” The girl grabbed her social worker’s hand and led her to the closet, opening the door with a click, “I folded all my pants yesterday.” She pointed to the incredibly neat contents of her pants basket.

Dani bit back a chuckle and sucked in a deep breath. She’d hardly forgotten how sweet Skye could be, but she hadn’t witnessed it in a while. It was a shame sometimes to see children go, and Skye had been part of Dani’s life since she’d first arrived at St Agnes. Dani remembered who she’d been then, little Cory Sutter, just four years old, too small, not quite so damaged… just as desperate to fit. Finding Skye a family had taken longer, with more mistakes, than Dani would have liked, but here they were. Dani had a feeling, a good, yet melancholy feeling, that Skye didn’t really need her any more.

“Why don’t we go downstairs and see Phil and Melinda, I want to give you something.” Dani shifted her shoulder, hefting he contents of her satchel, heavy with the emotional, rather than physical, weight she carried inside it.

“Like a present?” Skye raised an eyebrow.

“A little.”

 

* * *

 

Skye had spent whole nights awake wondering about her birth mother. In her mind she’d painted the perfect person. She knew it was silly, and unlikely, but it helped… to think maybe her mother had wanted her after all. That she’d been forced to give her away. Skye had tried drawing her once; Dark hair and dark eyes, just like Skye, but taller, smiling as she held Skye’s hand. It was strange to think back now, because it seemed like she’d drawn Melinda before she even knew her. Still hidden in every cell of her body was this need to know; what had happened to her mother, why she’d given her up, who she was, who her father was… so many questions she’d want to ask if she got the chance. Her mother had left her with nothing, or so she’d thought.

“I thought it was about time you had this. I'm not sure why the sisters kept it from you. I think they thought you were too young. But it's yours now.” Dani pulled a small picture frame from inside her satchel.

Skye was sat between Melinda and Phil on the couch, whereas Dani ad placed herself in the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

The little girl leant over to receive the frame, her breath catching in her throat. “Is this-”

“The note you were left with.” Dani nodded encouragingly.

A scrap of paper, adorned with tiny, beautiful characters, tucked behind the glass for safe-keeping.

Skye could barely dare to look down at it. She felt Melinda stiffen a little beside her.

Swallowing her apprehension, having waited years for this moment, Skye began to read.

 

_‘Wǒ de nǚ'ér._

_Rú guǒ wǒ shuō duì bu qǐ, nǐ shì fǒu jiù huì yuán liàng wǒ?_

_Xīwàng rú cǐ, qīnàide._

_Wǒ de Dài xī._

The second line was as far as Skye got before she choked, eyesight blurring. The first bit meant, ‘My daughter,’ she knew that much. She recognised some of the following words, ‘forgive’ and ‘me’ were all she managed to make out in the state she was in, but just that was enough to trigger tears.

“I can’t read it.” Skye sobbed. For so many reasons it was the truth; her mandarin wasn’t good enough yet, she couldn’t really read characters, and her sight was terrorised by tears, but more than that she was scared to finish it. Scared of what it might tell her.

“Oh, Máomao…” May murmured.

Skye felt Phil’s sympathetic hand brush her arm, just a little signal that he was there for her too.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

The little girl nodded weakly.

Melinda reached out and drew Skye into her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, she began to read the translation softly. She made it clear this message had been meant for Skye’s eyes and ears.

“My daughter,” May began.

Skye followed the text as Melinda read to her.

“If I said I was sorry would you forgive me? I hope so, my love.” Melinda sucked in a sharp breath, affected by the emotion behind the messy scrawl in which this note had been written, and by what she had just discovered. “My Daisy.”

Skye’s ears pricked up. _‘Daisy…’_ The word, the name, echoed inside her skull. _‘Daisy’_

“Daisy?” Phil asked, leaning in closer, to look at the note, though he had no hope of actually reading it.

“Daisy.” Dani was focused on the carpet, her thoughts far away, she continued, speaking to herself more than anyone else, “The sisters… they must have put Mary on your birth certificate before they got the translation.” She concluded.

This was the one thing the little girl’s birth mother had given her… not security, not a home, but knowledge. She had been loved, and wanted. How could she be a bad thing if she’d been loved from the start? For a long time she’d thought her birth mother had never come to get her because she didn’t care. Skye had made peace with the idea that she would never see the woman who’d given her life again, she wasn’t about to discard that belief, but it helped to know she’d been loved… she was a little less angry, with herself, with her mother, now she knew. It made it seem like maybe being left hadn’t been her own fault; that she hadn’t been given away because she hadn’t been good enough for her mother to love her. And if she’d been loved once… she could be loved again, right?

Skye’s birth mother had given her a name after all, a pretty name. She remembered in kindergarten, when Hannah, one of the women who worked there, no older than 22 with tight, dark curls and a huge smile had been showing her a bouquet she’d bought for one of the other carers who’d just had a baby boy, _‘They’re Daisies, Cory. They’re good for babies because they mean a new beginning.’_

It was quite fitting really, because Skye’s life had been full of new beginnings; new families, new houses, new kindergartens and schools. The girl allowed herself to snuggle in closer to Melinda and ponder whether this could be her final new beginning.

 

* * *

 

“Phil?”

“Yeah.” He was busy tucking Skye in tight, bringing the duvet up to her chin so there was no way she could be cold. Just her head peeking out the top, with huge doe eyes looking right at him.

“What do you think of the name Daisy?” She said, a little quieter.

“I think it’s very pretty.” Phil answered truthfully, brushing back her bangs from her forehead. He desperately wanted to kiss his daughter goodnight, right there on her furrowed brow, but he was afraid it would only make her uncomfortable. Maybe she wasn’t ready yet, but would he ever know when she was?

“Yeah?”

Phil smiled, full of warmth, a story building behind his eyes. A rickety house by a lake, taps that always ran cold, thick, scratchy blankets, his grandfather’s Tallit draped over the back of that old, cracked leather armchair by the fire. Even years after his death Phil’s grandmother had removed it only wash it and place it back on the chair, seeing as the old man had not been able to be buried with it, Daisy had done what she could. Phil had touched it once, when his grandmother wasn't around, and felt every prayer and hope his grandfather had ever had rushing through the threads underneath his fingertips. Sometimes, even all these years later, when in the darkness of the middle of the night Phil couldn’t sleep he could still hear his Grandpa Isaac’s mountainous snores echoing through the walls, and suddenly he was seven years old spending the spring with his grandparents again.

Grandma Daisy.

“It was my grandmother’s name. Daisy.” Phil told the girl.

With the blinds down and lights off the only light spilling in came from the hallway. Just enough for Phil to see Skye’s eyes widen and her lips part as she realised she didn’t know that much about Phil’s family, his parents and grandparents.

“What was she like?” The girl whispered up to him.

Phil thought a moment, “She was… she was, um… strange I suppose.”

Skye hadn’t been expecting that adjective, and it showed on her face.

“No, um… she was… incredible. She saw a lot of bad people do bad things when she was young, she had it very hard, but… it made her gentle.”

“Was she beautiful?” Skye asked, eyelids drooping as sleep caught up with her.

Phil remembered his grandmother’s face, weary with life, but eyes so alive Phil felt he might burn under their gaze. Grey hair that had once been a deep brown, and clear blue eyes, the ones he’d inherited through his mother. The way she was slightly bent over with age, and always smelled like the thyme she grew in her window boxes. The small white scars on her neck and jaw from when a man had smashed a glass bottle over her shoulder one evening in Dresden, in 1940, not weeks before her family had fled the country.

“Very.” Phil said with sincerity. He watched as his youngest daughter breathed deeply, close to oblivion, and noted how much his grandmother would have loved Skye. “’Night, Skye.”

Skye hummed, eyes flickering open a moment, “Night night.”

Phil was about to leave, convinced Skye would be snoring the moment he stepped out the door, when he was stopped.

“Phil.” Skye murmured, stretching out an arm toward him, slightly limp with fatigue, her small hand landing lightly against his chest.

“Hm?”

“I believe you now.” She said simply.

“What?” Phil tried to mask quite how deep his confusion was.

“I believe you _now_.” The girl repeated, somehow it was both firmer and softer this time. She brought her hand up to his cheek and smiled sleepily, before letting it fall and turning onto her side, facing away from him, so she could drift off.

That’s when Phil remembered; The day Skye had broken the plate.

 

_“Skye.” He paused. “I want to tell you I would never hurt you, no matter what you did, I would never harm you. Do you believe me?”_

_Skye looked scared again._

_Phil’s clenched jaw trembled a second, “You can say no, Skye. I just want you to be truthful with me.”_

_Skye’s gaze fell, and Phil and Melinda waited. Then she slowly moved her head from side to side. ‘No.’_

_“O…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Okay.” Except it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. “I hope… I hope one day you will feel safe enough to believe me. I will never ever hurt you, Skye.”_

 

The man stayed perched on the edge of the bed a while, considering the gift he’d just been given. He hadn’t realised how much this had been weighing on him until he felt his heart lighten.

Soon Skye’s small, snuffling snores began.

Phil blinked, eyes a little bloodshot, wet. He leant over his daughter and pressed the lightest kiss possible to her temple, careful not to wake her.

He drew back, “Thank you.”

A moment later he rose, making his way out the door, “Goodnight, Angel eyes.”

 

 

 

 

 

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  _please follow me at[@daisyqiaolainmay](http://daisyqiaolianmay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! i'm taking prompts_

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**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everyone who has commented on this story! Comments, praise, suggestions, constructive criticism literally all of it spurs me on.


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